


The Last Night

by dancerinthedark101



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drama, Gen, Teen Years
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 20:17:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancerinthedark101/pseuds/dancerinthedark101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A shootout at a school dance results in disastrous consequences for the Winchesters. Sam 13 Dean 17. Hurt!Sam Hurt!Dean</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**~Chapter 1~**

_Friday 7.00 pm_

"Please, Dad! All my friends are going, they'll think I'm a loser if I don't go!" Sam begged, his hazel eyes wide and pleading. Dean rolled his eyes at the tone lacing the words. He had known that Sam wanted to go to the stupid school dance, but he hadn't known that he had wanted to go  _this_ badly.

Looking over to his father, Dean watched in anticipation to see what John's reaction would be. His dark eyes had taken on a stormy sheen and Dean knew that it wasn't going to end well.

"No, Sam! For the last time, you're not going!"

"But that's not fair! You never let me go to  _anything!_  Please!" Sam reiterated, the puppy-dog look replacing the one of anger. " _Please…_ "

Sighing quietly as he stood off to the side, knowing full well the only way Sam would be allowed to go to the dance was if he drove him, stayed the entire time, and drove him home. Only, he didn't think that it would go over very well with Sammy. The dropping off and picking up part would be fine, but Dean was pretty sure that the younger Winchester would not like him to be mingling with all his friends. So, as usual, he would be confined to the car for a couple of hours.  _Great…_

"Dad," Dean spoke up, his voice strong and carrying well. Both the other Winchester's looked over at the word, confusion marring their faces. He fought the urge to roll his eyes again as they continued to stare. "Look, if Sammy…" he ignored the glare he knew was being thrown his way from his younger brother as he continued to speak to his dad. "If  _Sammy_  really wants ta go, I'll take him. I'll stay and keep an eye on him too, if ya want."

At his words, Dean could literally see the wheels turning in his father's head. At seventeen, Dean knew that his dad trusted him with a lot of things and looking after Sam was one of those things. Sam would probably hate him for weeks to come for even  _suggesting_ that he would come, but he would get over it, eventually.

"Sam?"

There was no answer from the young hunter and Dean glanced over at his brother, to see smoldering hazel eyes glaring at him.  _Great_ , he was taking it harder than what Dean had originally anticipated.

"Yeah," came the begrudging reply from the thirteen-year-old. "I guess that'll be okay…But I don't see why I can't go without Dean! I'm old enough to go to a  _school dance_  by myself, Dad!"

"Don't start with me, Sam!" Their dad yelled back, anger rising greatly. "I'm your father and you'll do as I say! Just be thankful that your brother is going to take you, otherwise you wouldn't be going, full stop!"

Sam returned with another bout of anger-fuelled words. Dean just couldn't see why his dad and brother couldn't get along like they once had. They spent more time arguing than anything else and Dean had a feeling that in years to come, their differences were going to result in something no one wanted to experience.

Fed up with the escalating voices, Dean stepped out of the living room of their latest 'home' and walked into the bedroom he and his brother shared.

The bedroom was small and consisted of two single beds, a dresser and two bedside tables which housed ugly puke green lamps. Pale yellow duvets covered the beds, complete with matching pillowcases. The room was pretty ugly, even by their standards, with gray wallpaper with an ugly yellow rose pattern, but at least the beds were somewhat comfortable.

To the side of the room was another door, which lead into a small bathroom. That was the one thing Dean loved about the small apartment they were renting. There was a main bathroom that their dad used and a small, basic en-suite for him and Sam.

Walking into the en-suite, Dean opened up the mirrored medicine cabinet and pulled out a bottle of pills. Popping the lid, he palmed three and put the bottle back in the cupboard before reaching for the glass of water sitting on the edge of the basin.

Throwing the pills into the back of his mouth, Dean washed them down with the water, hoping like hell that they would help with the headache that was forming behind his eyes. A quick glance at his watch showed just after seven, and knowing that the dance started at eight, decided to have a quick shower before Sammy wanted the damn thing to spend half an hour doing his girly stuff.

Smirking at the thought, he turned on the faucet and let it heat up before stripping off the ragged jeans and black shirt and stepped under the jets of hot water, letting it hit his still-sore body from the last hunt.

Ten minutes later, Dean was sitting on his bed, leaning against the headboard and flipping through the latest car magazine he could find when Sam strode into the room, an angry look still plastered on his face.

"What?" Dean smiled innocently at his brother. "At least you get to go now." He could pretty much see the argument starting to form in his brother's head and held up a hand to stop him before he could start on his latest rant.

"Don't worry, Sammy. I won't go in and embarrass you in front of all your friends. I'll park the car across the road and wait in the car while you have fun with all your geeky friends."

A satisfied smirk possessed his lips as the anger was suddenly replaced with confusion and then embarrassment.

"S'rry, Dean." The words were quiet, quiet enough that Dean had to ask Sam to repeat them. Dean nodded, accepting the apology. He knew that he probably shouldn't, but Sam said and did a lot of things in anger without meaning to. He just didn't think things through before acting on them. In a lot of ways, Sammy was just like their dad.

After a few tense minutes of silence, Sam broke the reverie-like situation with a statement that he was going to have a shower and disappeared into the small bathroom. At his brother's retreating back, Dean teased: "Don't take too long doing all your girly stuff,  _Samantha_!"

A single finger was the only response and Dean laughed, returning to his magazine and the page featuring the busty blonde leaning against the gorgeous '72 Plymouth Barracuda.

_7.45 pm_

Lost in the magazine of hot chicks and sweet rides, Dean didn't even realize what the time was until Dad shouted though the closed bedroom door, saying that they'd better hurry up or be late. Checking his watch and seeing that it was a quarter to eight, Dean swore and threw the magazine on the bedside table, standing and making his way over to the bathroom door.

He pounded his fist on the door a few times before yelling out that it was a quarter to eight and that Sam'd better hurry up or he'd be late. A few quick and muffled curses floated through the wooden door and Dean smiled, leaning against the wall and fingering the car keys in his jacket pocket.

In a record three minutes, both brothers were ready to go. Dean said goodbye to their father, who stated a few rules including 'I want you home by twelve' and 'Dean, be good!' Dean just laughed and waved as he ushered Sam out the door and towards the Impala.

Once in the car, Dean slipped the key in the ignition and smiled as the V8 engine purred away. Pressing play on the stereo, the sounds of Metallica blared from the speakers as he pulled out from the curb. Although the music was playing exceedingly loud, the elder Winchester didn't miss the quiet 'thanks' that came from the passenger seat.

It was another ten minutes before they arrived at the hall the school had hired out for the night for the dance. Dean parked across the road – as promised – and as Sammy got out the car, hit pause on the stereo and rolled down the window, motioning for him to come closer.

"I want you to be careful, okay? I'm doing you a favor, not coming in, but you gotta promise me not to be reckless. I've got my 'cell on me if you need me and I want you to be back out here by twelve thirty so that we've got plenty of time to get home."

Sam nodded in understanding and Dean reached up and messed up his kid brother's hair, knowing that it pissed him off.

"Dean!" came the agitated reply as predicted. "I promise I'll be good. Thanks, Dean."

"No problem, kiddo. Now, go have some fun." With that, Sam grinned and walked across the road to the hall, where several groups of teenagers from their school were gathered. Dean watched Sam stride up to one particularly large one and be engulfed by a group of guys, laughing.

Damn, he hadn't known that Sammy was so popular. A grin settled on Dean's face as he saw Sam look back at him, throwing up a hand in the universal sign for 'I'm good.'

Settling back in the seat, Dean turned the music back on and let Metallica blast through the speakers once more. Pulling out a magazine from the duffle on the backseat, he used the streetlight and the fading sunlight to read as he flicked through the thin pages. Maybe, just maybe, tonight wouldn't be too bad.

_8.27 pm_

Looking up from the magazine, Dean frowned before shaking his head and returning to stare at the seriously gorgeous babe plastered across the center pages. Another smile lit his face until the same sound as before caught his hearing again.

Eyes widening, Dean opened the glove box and grabbed the gun he kept there in case of emergency. Checking the clip, he loaded the gun and tucked it into the waste band of his jeans at the small of his back, letting his shirt and jacket conceal the weapon.

He flipped open his cell phone, dialing Dad's number and hearing the call being answered, didn't care if it was actually his dad or voicemail, began to speak.

"Dad. Something's happened at the dance. Sam's in trouble. Call you when I can."

Flipping the phone shut and shoving it in his pocket, Dean locked the Impala and raced over to the hall, just as the screams started.

**~TBC~**


	2. Chapter 2

**_Friday 7.55 pm_ **

Sam climbed out of the midnight black Impala and was about to walk across the road when Dean motioned for him to come closer. Sighing, Sam stood beside the driver's side window and listened to the set of 'rules' his brother put in place.

"I want you to be careful, okay? I'm doing you a favor, not coming in, but you gotta promise me not to be reckless. I've got my 'cell on me if you need me and I want you to be back out here by twelve thirty so that we've got plenty of time to get home."

Nodding in understanding, Sam grimaced and exclaimed loudly when Dean reached up and messed up his hair that he had so impeccably gelled into place for the dance. "Dean! I promise I'll be good. Thanks, Dean."

"No problem, kiddo. Now, go have some fun."

Taking the words as his cue, Sam hurried across the road and towards the large group of people he knew as his friends. He saw Chase and Riley waving him over and grinned. He was so glad that his dad had let him go. It was gonna be awesome.

"Sam!" Chase yelled, a drink of Coke clasped in his hand as he stood next to Riley, Matt and Liam. Sam ambled over, smiling at his friend's antics. Quickly glancing across the street, Sam saw Dean looking over from the darkness of the Impala. Hopefully, his brother would let him have some fun without barging in on him. Although, a nagging feeling in the pit of his gut told him that he would be seeing Dean a lot earlier than originally thought.

Sam pushed the stray thoughts to the back of his mind as Riley clapped him on the back and handed him a can of Coke. Popping the cap, he took a long gulp and sighed as the refreshing, tangy drink soothed his throat.

"Alright! Now that we're all here, let's go have some fun," Chase grinned, hearing the pumping music from inside the hall. As he got closer to the doors, Sam could feel the ground vibrating, the music loud and booming.

Once inside, the group split. Sam went towards the refreshment tables with the guys, while the girls headed off towards the bathrooms to 'refresh themselves.' Sam couldn't help the roll of his eyes at that. They'd only just got there and already they wanted to 'freshen up?' God, he would never understand women.

"Hey, Sam?" Riley asked from beside him.

Sam turned to his friend. "Yeah?"

Riley nodded towards a group of seventeen and eighteen-year-olds grouped together by the far wall. Sam could see cans of drink in their hands and he was positive that it wasn't Coke.

"Why isn't your brother here? I thought he still went to our school?"

It was a question that Sam had been asking himself since their dad had agreed to let him go. Dean was always one for parties – especially the ones where girls were in abundance and Dean would turn on the charm-o-meter. So it had been a shock when Dean had said that he didn't want to go.

"I dunno," he finally relented after thinking. "Maybe it's 'cause it's the whole school and not just the students in his year? I know Dean doesn't like hanging round with younger people. Apparently they 'cramp his style.'"

Riley sniggered and Sam found himself laughing along with him. "But, god does that guy have style!" Riley put forth. "I mean, look at his car! You're so lucky, Sam. I'd  _kill_  to get a car like that!"

Another roll eye followed at that statement.  _Dean and his bloody car!_  Although – he would never admit it aloud – Sam found some pleasure in riding around in the classic car. Especially when his friends started to rave about the black beast. God, if Dean ever found out…

"Yeah…" he mumbled quietly. They didn't know the half of it. He car had been a present from Dad to Dean on his sixteenth birthday, a sort of early coming-of-age present. Sam didn't think he had ever seen his brother so happy when Dad had handed him the keys.

All of a sudden the current song was cut short and moments later, the hired DJ called out that he had been given a new soundtrack to work with and in seconds, one of the latest and most popular rock songs blasted through the amped-up stereo system. Sam smiled as he realized he actually  _knew_ the song, the smile quickly turning into a smirk as he thought about what Dean's reaction would have been to the song.

Turning to where his friends were standing, Sam realized that tonight wouldn't be too bad at all.

_8.30pm_

Half an hour later, the DJ was taking a break and the music had been turned down substantially. The youngest Winchester was sitting around a few tables pushed together, talking to Riley and Chase about the odds of their school's soccer team advancing to the semi-finals. It was then that the warning bell that had pretty much been implanted in his brain by his father started sounding warning signs.

Eyes narrowing, he tuned out of the conversation and made a quick sweep of the large room. He didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, but as Sam looked towards the exit, he noticed a few older guys standing by the door. They were dressed in leather biker jackets and ripped blue jeans. They looked hard and mean.

Just as he was about to ask Chase if he knew who they were, one of the guys who was easily six foot, stalked up to the main stage and grabbed the microphone. Warily looking at the guy, Sam noticed that the entire hall had gone quiet. The music was still thumping, creating an eerie atmosphere that to Sam, screamed  _danger_.

"All right!" The guy spoke in the microphone, smirking at the looks of fear decorated on everyone's faces. "I've got a little surprise for all you tonight, and it's gonna be a  _blast_!" With that last word, the guy reached behind him and pulled out a hand gun before firing off one shot into the ceiling.

The resounding bang deafened the music still playing and Sam couldn't help but flinch at the sound. He quickly looked at his friends, who he could clearly see shaking. Their eyes were wide and faces pale as they took in the sight of the guy with the gun.

No one had moved or made a sound; too shocked to even think of doing anything. Swallowing, Sam turned his head slightly to see the other guys standing at the door and inwardly groaned when he saw that they were also holding weapons of different sorts.

"Now," the guy on the stage was speaking again, "you are all going to listen up, because I'm only gonna say this once. I want all of the girls on one side of the hall, and all the boys on the other. Teachers and parents, you get to stay in the middle." The guy grinned and a bad feeling shot through Sam.

From what he could tell, the guy was insane. He didn't seem to have any real plan and he was waving the gun around without a care in the world. With every passing second, Sam grew more and more worried.

Then it hit him.

Dean!

Dean was currently waiting in the Impala outside. If he could somehow get a message to him…

Moving with the other boys over to the side of the hall, the youngest Winchester surveyed his options. Most of the students were too afraid to do anything about the situation and the teachers and parents would most probably go along with the gunmen in an attempt to keep the students safe. This wasn't looking good. God, he wished Dean was with him.

Just as he made it to the side of the hall, there was a shout from the middle of the room, where a teacher was saying something that he couldn't quite make out.

Worried, Sam looked up to the stage where the gunman was standing, the maniac grin still plastered on his face. Seconds later, another shot rang out and the teacher (Sam didn't know his name) fell to the floor, blood blossoming like a distorted halo around his body. In that instant, the room went from shocked silence to being filled with the panicked screams of the students and Sam knew that they were all in serious danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well there's chapter 2. Hope you like. Hopefully I'll remember to post some of the other chapters soon.


	3. Chapter 3

8.37pm

Dean quickly made his way round the outside of the hall. He couldn't hear any music booming from within, nor could he hear any more screaming. He didn't know whether to take that as a good thing or bad. The elder Winchester grimaced as he stepped on a plank of wood lying on the ground, hearing the plank clang against the metal piping of the drain running down the wall. He waited a few moments before moving on, making sure that no one had heard the sound. If there were gunmen inside he had to be extra careful.

Once he was around the back of the hall, Dean saw a window that wasn't covered by curtains or any other material. It was situated just above his eye level, so after finding a small crate to stand on, he hoisted himself up and peered into the building.

Immediately his senses went into overdrive. From what he could see, all the girls were cowered together on one wall, the boys on another. The parents and teachers were standing in a tight bunch right smack in the middle. And on the stage where the DJ equipment was, stood a black-garbed guy holding a gun.

Fuck.

Then, at the other end of the hall, near the entrance doors, stood another four guys also holding weapons of different kinds. Five against one? Not good odds and Dean had no way of knowing if there were any others hidden about the place.

Backing away from the building, Dean began to reassess. His little brother was in there, along with a good hundred or so other kids. Plus there were the teachers and parents to consider too. But Sammy was his main priority. He was going to have to call the police.

Hunters trained eyes scanned the surrounding area to see if there was anything in the immediate vicinity that could help. A little ways down the road was a payphone. After checking that he had enough coins, Dean raced as quietly as he could towards it. Dialling the appropriate numbers, the young hunter waited for the call to connect.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"There's a school dance on at the Richfelds Memorial Hall tonight. Someone's gone in with a gun and is holding everyone hostage." It all came out in one breath, trying to get the info out as soon as possible. "I don't know if anyone's hurt, but I heard two shots around ten minutes ago. There's been no activity since then."

"Sir, please slow down. You said it was the Richfelds Memorial Hall? School dance?"

"Yes!" Dean growled. God, why wouldn't they just hurry up and get the police there already?

"And what is your name, sir?"

"Winchester. Dean Winchester."

And he hung up. Probably not the smartest move, but while the short conversation was going on, a plan had formulated in his head. Running back to the hall, Dean stealthily made his way back to the window and tried to pry the thing open. Luckily, it opened without a lot of resistance and didn't squeak. Putting the safety on the gun and slipping it into the waistband of his jeans, the young hunter hoisted himself up and twisted himself so that he could fit through the small opening the window gave him.

Luckily the window was situated in a dark, shadowed area that was partially hidden from the students and the gunman's line of sight. Dean winced as the muscles in his arms strained as he slowly lowered himself into the hall, making sure that his heavy combat boots didn't make a sound when they hit the wooden flooring.

Now that he was in the building, Dean could hear the muffled cries of some of the younger kids.

"Shut up!" the gunman screamed, waving the gun around before firing a shot into the ceiling. Dean inched around the corner and felt himself pale as he took in the scene before him. There were a few things that he hadn't noticed from the window, the most prominent one being the dead teacher lying in the middle of the floor, dark blood spreading around the cooling corpse. Green eyes scanned the room until they locked onto the one thing he was looking for; Sammy.

The thirteen-year-old looked shaken and scared, but uninjured. Green eyes closed in relief before opening again, narrowed in steely determination. That fucker wasn't going to get away with hurting anyone else, and there was no way in hell he was going anywhere near his little brother.

"Alright! Now we're talking!" the gunman started to ramble on about something to one of the other gunmen in the room who had made their way up to the stage. A quick nod signalled the conversation over and the lackey strode back to his position by the front doors.

"Alrighty then," the guy grinned. "There is a reason for me gracing your presence tonight. I'm looking for someone; someone very special indeed. So if this particular person is here, I would like for him to step forward, and no one is to hide him, understood!"

Dean froze. Oh god, what the hell did they want? Why would they hold up an entire school party to find one guy?

"So, anyone here go by the name Sammy Winchester?"

Dean's blood ran cold as a gasp flew through the kids and adults alike. No no no no no…

Pulling the gun out again, Dean flicked off the safety and readied himself. That bastard was gonna die a very quick and very violent death for just mentioning his brother's name. Glaring at the gunman, that's when Dean saw it.

The quick flicker of the gunman's eyes – the flicker to an inky black.

Triple fuck!

Demons.

8.50pm

Sam froze as the gunman said his name. A hundred pairs of eyes swivelled in his direction and all Sam could wonder was why in the hell would the gunman want him?

He stared up at the guy on stage and froze when he saw the flickering of his eyes – knew instantly what he was.

Demon.

He was about to step forward and reveal himself when the youngest Winchester heard the sound of sirens wailing in the distance. A collective sigh of relief sounded from those in the hall, knowing that help was on the way. Sam smiled slightly, knowing that Dean must have had something to do with it. He was always saving him.

"Sammy Winchester? Are you in here somewhere? If you don't show yourself soon, I will start shooting again, and you don't want that do you Sam?"

Swallowing heavily, the young hunter stepped forward and out of the crowd of boys pressed up against the wall.

"Sam? What the hell are you doing? Don't!" was the urgent whisper from Riley.

"Don't worry, Riley. I got this…" he whispered back. Under his breath he added: I hope…

Dean, where are you? This is where you would really come in handy right now!

Funny, he was pretty sure he was facing imminent death and all he wanted was his brother. Dean would have a field day he if ever found that out…

"Ahh there you are young Sammy. Nice to finally meet you…" The gunman grinned and his eyes flicked back to the solid black of the demon. "I've heard so many wonderful things about you and your little family; your older brother Dean, following in daddy's footsteps; and your daddy himself – well, he's a one-man-fighting-machine isn't he? I know a few people who would like John Winchester's head on a platter."

"Leave my family alone you fugly piece of shit!" Sam shouted. He couldn't help himself. He hated it when anyone talked shit about his family. They weren't perfect by any means and they sometimes annoyed the hell out of him, but they were all he had.

Suddenly, the gun was levelled at him and Sam felt himself start to shake. Okay, so maybe yelling at the demon with the weapon wasn't the smartest move…

"You're gonna pay for smart-mouthing me, you little shit!"

Hazel eyes shut, Sam stared down the barrel of the gun and waited – waited for the imminent bang of the gun going off and the pain he knew would come soon after.

BANG

Abruptly, Sam was thrown off his feet. He skidded across the wooden flooring as a scream rang out, and it wasn't his. Opening his eyes, Sam took in the scene before him and his mouth dropped in horror. Someone had pushed him out of the way of the bullet's path.

And it was none other than his older brother – who was now lying on the floor, eyes scrunched up in pain and his hands planted on his stomach covering the slowly growing stain of dark red.

"DEAN!"


	4. Chapter 4

8.50pm

"Sammy Winchester? Are you in here somewhere? If you don't show yourself soon, I will start shooting again, and you don't want that do you Sam?"

Dean watched in horror as the main gunman called out to his brother again. This was so not good. His father was going to kill him for letting them get into this situation. But honestly, how the hell could he have known that a demon was going to go to a freakin' high-school dance and take everyone hostage?

One thing was certain though – once his dad found out about it, he would be there with guns blazing and face of fury. Those demons wouldn't stand a chance once John Winchester got a hold of them. They'd be black demony smush on the walls and floor.

Dean grinned to himself as the mental picture of black demon smush splattered all over the room came to mind. Then the demon spoke again, shaking the elder Winchester out of his thoughts and focus back on the situation at hand. He had a bad feeling about the whole thing – he stomach was pretty much a pretzel as the nerves worked their way through his body and he would swear black and blue that his hands – especially the one holding the gun – weren't shaking.

"Ahh there you are young Sammy. Nice to finally meet you…" The gunman grinned and his eyes flicked back to the solid black of the demon. "I've heard so many wonderful things about you and your little family; your older brother Dean, following in daddy's footsteps; and your daddy himself – well, he's a one-man-fighting-machine isn't he? I know a few people who would like John Winchester's head on a platter."

"Leave my family alone you fugly piece of shit!" Dean heard Sam shout back at the very-aptly-named fugly piece of demon shit. Oh god, this was going very south, very quickly.

Dean was still hidden around the corner and he risked being seen as he ducked his head around the wall and froze as he watched the demon bring the gun he was holding upwards. And then it was pointed directly at his little brother. Fuck.

"You're gonna pay for smart-mouthing me, you little shit!"

He saw Sam freeze as the younger hunter realised what kind of trouble he had just landed himself in and suddenly all thoughts flew out the window and Dean reacted on instinct. The gun in his hand was dropped to the floor and he was flying across the room towards Sam. All he had to do was get Sam out of the way before the bullets started to fly.

BANG

Dean slammed into his brother just as the gun went off and a white hot pain exploded in his stomach and he couldn't help the scream of agony that erupted from him just moments after the bullet had hit. His hands immediately went to the source of the agonising pain and pressed limply against the hole in his abdomen.

"DEAN!"

Sammy yelled from somewhere, but the elder hunter couldn't make out from where exactly. His entire being was focused on trying to keep the pain at bay, and to stay alert enough to figure out what the hell they were going to do now.

"Oh my god… Dean!"

Dean looked upwards, his eyes rolling listlessly in their sockets as he tried to focus on the form of his little brother standing above him. He could see Sam's mouth moving, but could only catch snippets of what he was actually saying. Everything seemed to be a kaleidoscope of out-of-tune words, distorted pictures and pain.

Pain that seemed to be coming in waves. One minute there would be short, sharp spikes radiating from the bullet wound, the next his whole body would go numb and the world would fade slightly into the darkness. Wash, rinse and repeat…

Blinking lazily, Dean struggled not to black out but somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he was fighting a losing battle. Random facts were appearing to the forefront of his mind and he couldn't seem to stay focused on one thing longer than a few seconds at a time. Everything was so muddled and he somehow knew that was a bad thing, but had no idea why he knew that.

"Dad…" he moaned as a particularly sharp spike of pain ripped through him and he gasped, hands lifting from the wound momentarily. "Help me…"

And the last thing Dean realised before finally giving in to the encroaching darkness was that he could taste blood in his mouth and that he most definitely hadn't bitten his tongue.

9.02pm

Sam watched in horror as Dean pleaded for their father to help him before passing out cold, blood bubbling from his mouth and dribbling down his chin.

He had quickly risen to his feet after skidding across the floor and raced back over to where Dean was lying, blood quickly pooling around him in a sickening red halo. After Dean's initial scream when the bullet must have hit, there had been hardly any noise. But now that his older brother had passed out, Sam noticed that many of his friends and other school children were crying whimpering; whispering to themselves in disbelief.

Sam knelt down beside his brother, not caring that his good jeans were now soaked in his brother's blood and placed his hands against Dean's lax ones lying over the wound in his stomach. He pressed down hard and had to bite his lip to stop him from crying as Dean bucked under the added pressure.

"Someone help!" he screamed, fighting to keep the tears at bay as he felt the warm liquid flow out of his older brother's body and through his hands to soak their clothes and the floor. Dean was going to bleed out if someone didn't do something and quick.

Luckily his call was answered and one of the teachers – Sam forgot his name – ran over and pressed his hands against Dean's stomach as well. The teacher was much stronger than Sam was and Dean jerked awake at the sudden weight pressing on the wound, his green eyes wide and filled with pain.

Sam watched in horror as his brother gagged on blood that had accumulated in his mouth over the past few minutes. Oh god, had it really only been a few minutes since his brother had been shot?

"S'mmy?" Dean slurred and Sam grabbed one of Dean's blood-stained hands and gripped it tight.

"I'm here, Dean. I'm not going anywhere…" he whispered into his brother's ear before turning to the demon that had shot Dean.

"Please. Let him go. He's gonna die if you don't."

The demon just grinned. "And why would I want to do that, Sammy? What would I get in return for letting your brother go?"

Sam didn't even have to think over the answer. If Dean didn't get help fast, he would die.

"You get me." The youngest Winchester heard gasps at his answer and Dean's hand tightened fractionally around his.

"No… S'mmy… don't…" came the slurred, but expected response. "Not… w'rth it…" Sam looked into his brother's half-mast eyes and found exactly what he didn't want to find. Dean had resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to die to save his little brother.

"You get me," Sam repeated. "Let Dean go and I'll stay."

The demon leered. "Deal."

And for some reason, Sam felt there was a hell of a lot more to what the demon's wanted than he originally thought. Had he just made a horrible mistake?

8.55pm – outside the hall

Police officer Grant Hutly was looking over a sheet of paper stating the names of everyone who was thought to have been in attendance at the school dance, when the echo of a gunshot ripped through the night sky. Everyone in the immediate vicinity froze and heard the piercing scream that came directly after the shot.

And then everything got a hell of a lot more complicated. It wasn't just a hostage situation anymore. Grant would have bet money on the fact that someone had been shot. Nobody screamed like that if they hadn't been hurt in any way. And it definitely wasn't the scream of a middle-aged adult. Grant put the age at late teens at the earliest.

One of the students had been shot. And if his night couldn't have got any worse, he turned around and suddenly he was standing face to face with John Winchester.

Only he didn't know it yet.


	5. Chapter 5

(Friday night)

9.05pm – inside the hall

John Winchester inched his way through the window, sliding carefully over the ledge and lowering himself to the ground with a muffled thump. Straightening up, the seasoned hunter turned around and reached back through the open window and grabbed the assault rifle the policeman had allowed him to use; once he had woven the carefully fabricated lie about being an off-duty SWAT member for the LAPD. He had even given the cop a number for his 'senior officer' which was in fact a direct number to one of Bobby Singer's many hunter hotlines – real handy when you were in a pinch. Only the cop thought he was just going to borrow it as he didn't have a weapon. At the first chance, John had snuck off, determined to get inside to help his boys.

Quietly checking the weapon, making sure that it was loaded properly and the safety was off, John slowly edged his way to the corner of the room. Once the wall disappeared, it opened into a large hall where John knew his sons were being kept along with a large amount of other students and teachers.

He knew he had to deal with the situation fast. He didn't know anything about the shooters or what they wanted, but soon enough other SWAT members and police negotiators would be swarming the place and once that happened, all chance of leaving quietly and un-noticed would be out of the question.

Pressed up against the wall, John heard Sam speak.

"You get me."

What? What the hell was going on? Gripping the gun tighter, the elder Winchester stuck his head around the corner and had to bite his lip from yelling out in anger and a little bit of fear.

There were several men covering the doors, while a single gunman held a gun to his youngest son's head, a disturbing smile plastered on his face.

But that wasn't the worst of it. Right in the centre of all the chaos, was a body. Lying on the floor, moaning, in a spreading deep red halo of blood was Dean. From where he was, John couldn't see where all the blood was coming from; but he knew that when that amount of blood was involved, it wasn't good.

"You get me," Sam repeated. "Let Dean go and I'll stay."

John watched the gunman leer at his youngest son and couldn't fight the shiver that ran up his spine at the disturbing look.

"Deal."

Clenching his free hand into a fist, the hunter ran through several different scenarios in his mind. It wasn't as though he could just waltz on in and start shooting. There were too many innocents and he was certain that if he did that, the gunmen would open fire as well and people would die.

Even if he found a discreet location and started to pick the hostage-takers off one by one, there would still be too much time and too high of a chance that the gunmen would start shooting the hostages as well.

Dammit. He had to find a way to get both of his sons out. Dean needed immediate medical attention and as much as he hated to think about it, there was a high chance that blood loss could kill his eldest son.

And why the hell was Sam dealing with the gunmen to take him instead of Dean? What the hell was going on!

Getting more and more confused as he thought about it, John leant back against the wall and took in a few deep breaths. Going and getting himself all worked up wasn't going to help anyone; if anything, it was going to make it worse.

"Now, let Dean go!" Sam's voice called out, a stubborn lilt accentuating the words.

Sticking his head back round the corner, John saw what was obviously the man in charge stick his hands up in defence, the leer still in place.

"Okay… okay… I'll let Dean go. But first…"

Immediately John went on high alert. That did not sound good. He watched in helplessness as the gunman walked over to where his eldest son was lying prone on the ground, moaning softly and his hand limply placed on his stomach.

"Here's a leaving present for you, Dean Winchester." Then the gunman's eyes flickered to an inky black. John had only seconds to comprehend what he had just seen before the demon picked up his foot and slammed it back down on Dean's stomach, heel first, hard. Immediately after, all logical thought evaporated from his mind.

Dean screamed. He screamed as his body arched off the ground, hands flailing as John imagined intense agony racing through his weakened body. He gasped for breath, his mouth opening and closing rapidly as he tried to draw in enough oxygen.

That was all that John could take. Double checking that the safety was off, he lifted the weapon into a firing position and moved from his place in the shadows.

"Get away from my children you son of a bitch!" He yelled, firing off a shot that slammed into one of the goons by the door. Immediately after, he fired another few shots which displaced the other door-guarding goons. They fell, their weapons clattering to the floor beside them; but they weren't dead. The only thing that could kill a demon was to exorcise it; unless someone had managed to get a hold of Samuel Colt's mystical demon-killing gun.

"Dad!" he heard Sam call out as he shifted the gun towards the ass-hole demon that stomped on his kid.

He wanted to know why the hell demon's had taken all these kids hostage and why Sam had made some kind of deal with the thing in exchange for Dean. John knew as soon as he had seen the black eyes that there was a reason why they had come here; came to the same place that his boys just happened to be. It wasn't a coincidence.

But he couldn't be bothered waiting around to figure out why.

"Ahh… John Winchester," the demon grinned. "How nice of you to join us! Although I'm a little pissed at the fact you shot my guard dogs, it's not as though that would have killed them. They'll be fine in a couple of minutes. Ahh, the Winchester's all together in one place. It's like an all-you-can-eat-buffet! Delicious… Now I just have to fulfil my orders and kill you all."

"Get… away… from… my… son's…" he growled one last time.

And then he promptly went and shot the bitch in the face.

-SUPERNATURAL-

Sam watched in half horror, half intrigue as the demon and his father talked. And then his dad shot the demon in the face!

Grimacing as blood and other unmentionable stuff oozed out of large hole in the demon's cheek, Sam turned away to see his dad rushing over to where Dean was lying in a pool of his own blood. He watched as his brother struggled to breathe, gasping as much-needed oxygen was deprived. Blood was slipping through a pair of blue-tinged lips, sliding down his chin and dripping onto the floor. Oh god… his brother was going to die.

His dad was yelling at his brother to hold on; to keep breathing. But Sam didn't know if Dean had enough strength left in him to keep going. Before, it was if he had already given up. Feeling tears start to slip down his cheeks, he ignored the rest of the hostages as they ran towards the exits, just wanting to escape the madness of the situation and unable to explain everything that had gone on.

He could feel someone tugging at his shirt and turned to tell them to leave him alone, but stopped as he saw who it was. A fist came rushing at him and seconds later it all went black.

-SUPERNATURAL-

He screamed as pain ripped through him. He lay there, gasping for breath like a fish out of water; his mouth opening and closing but somehow not managing to breath in the vital air. It hurt. It hurt so bad. Chest heaving, he fought through the pain, temporarily forgetting to breathe and it wasn't until someone yelled at him to breathe dammit that he was able to suck in the precious oxygen.

"I… I can't… I can't breathe…" he choked out, stomach rising and falling rapidly as agony spread through his nerves.

He could feel his hold on reality slipping as the pain intensified, causing his body to arch off the ground and his hands to clench reflexively into tight fists. God… he just wanted it to stop!

"Hold on!" a voice seemingly screamed in his ear and he sucked in a lungful of air before nodding slightly, his eyes closing against his will at the same time.

It was then that he realised it didn't hurt as much as it had only moments before. The pain was subsiding at a rather fast rate and somewhere in the back of his increasingly foggy mind; he knew it was not a good thing.

A wave of fatigue washed over him as he continued to lie there. Muffled sounds reached his ears and he could see distorted movement from the corner of his eye, but nothing seemed to be registering anymore. Everything was hazy and disjointed.

He was so tired. All his energy was being used up just trying to breathe. When in the hell did breathing become so hard? His breath stuttering in his chest, he coughed; a deep, wet and disgusting cough that when it ended, he could feel some kind of liquid dribbling down his chin.

A hand appeared out of nowhere and brushed against his mouth, something cold wiping away the disturbingly warm liquid. Another voice was telling him to hold on; that help was on the way and all he had to do was breathe.

Breathe… he could do that.

-SUPERNATURAL-

Medics and police personnel poured into the hall as John crouched near his son, making sure he was still breathing. As paramedics began to slip an oxygen mask over Dean's face and started to speak in the strange language that was medical jargon, John looked over to where Sam was and motioned him over. Even though Sam had looked uninjured, he wanted to make sure that his son was still okay.

But when he looked to where Sam was last standing, there was only empty air. The entire hall, apart from himself, Dean and the medical and police personnel… was empty.

Sam was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

(Friday night)

"SAMMY!"

John felt the blood drain from his face as he gazed at the empty hall – stared at the spot where his son had been standing only moments before. Several people turned to look as he yelled his son's name again, desperate for his youngest to answer back.

"Sir?" It was one of the paramedics working on Dean, struggling to his breathing and blood pressure under control. "Is that your son's name?"

"What?" John asked, confused. "No. His name's Dean." Looking down at his eldest, John couldn't help the wave of rage that raced through his tired body. That bastard that shot his son was going to pay – once he found Sam.

Stepping away from the growing pool of blood, John took a deep breath to calm himself. He couldn't afford to lose it. Not here, not now. He had to be strong for Dean and had to keep himself together so that he could find Sam. He was hoping that his son would have just been sensible and gone outside with the other kids, but deep down, the eldest hunter knew that it wouldn't be the case.

A flurry of activity snapped him out of his thoughts. The paramedics had stabilized Dean enough to move him and they were now placing his son on a stretcher, ready to head towards the waiting ambulance. There was an oxygen mask resting on his son's alarmingly pale face; an IV was inserted in the back of his left hand while another IV had been placed in the crook of his right elbow that was a deep red colour – blood. He couldn't even remember telling the paramedics what blood-type his son was, let alone remember them having put in the IVs. God, he needed to get himself together and fast.

Following the paramedics out of the hall, John stopped short just as he was about to get in the ambulance. He hadn't seen Sam anywhere, but his mind had been focused on Dean. He didn't want to leave his son, but he had to look for his youngest as well. What the hell was he supposed to do?

"Sir? Are you riding with your son?"

"Uhh…" John mumbled unintelligently. He had to make a decision and fast.

"Your son can't wait, Sir. He needs to be in surgery as soon as possible."

Taking in another deep breath, John struggled with what to do. "I've gotta find my other son," he finally said. "He was in the hall when the shooting happened and I can't find him. Uh, I'm going to call my brother and he'll be at the hospital as soon as he can. His name's Bobby Singer. Can I put him on the list of people available to see Dean?"

He was rambling slightly, but the paramedic seemed sympathetic. "Of course, Sir."

And the ambulance was taking off, sirens blaring as it raced towards the hospital so that his son could live. He stood there for a moment, trying to get his bearings. He was a mess – his thoughts all over the place, unable to concentrate properly. What if Dean died and he wasn't there? What if Sam was lying in a ditch somewhere? God, how the hell did you choose between your children?

"John?"

Blinking, John startled at the voice in his ear. He hadn't even realised that he had picked up his phone and dialled Bobby's number until the gruff hunter had answered.

"Bobby… I need you to go to the General Hospital as soon as you can. Dean's been shot and is heading there now. But I think Sam's been kidnapped by the shooters and I need to find him. They're demons, Bobby."

He heard Bobby tell him that he was on his way as fast as he could and that he would keep in touch. John hung up and attempted to gather his thoughts. Dean was in the care of very capable surgeons and Bobby was on his way. Now he could focus on finding Sam and killing the bastards that took him.

John made his way through the masses of people towards where several police officers were standing. He needed some information.

-SUPERNATURAL-

Sam found himself in a world of pain. He had a bag over his head and he could feel that he was currently travelling at high speed in a car, over what as most certainly a back road due to all the bumps the car was going over. His head smashed into the side of the car again and Sam winced. His head hurt, a lot.

He had woken in the car, bag already over his head. The last thing he remembered was looking at the paramedics working on his brother, while his dad stood nearby. And then there was nothing. Now, his hands were tied behind his back with what he figured was some kind of rope. His feet were most likely tied in the same way.

Moving around a little as the car went over another pot hole, Sam had to steady his breathing as he realised he was in the trunk of the car. There was hardly enough room to move, apart from continuously smacking into the sides and roof of the trunk.

So the youngest Winchester curled himself into a tight ball, attempting to protect himself from the worst of the bumps. He really wished Dean was there…

DEAN! Oh god, he hoped that his brother was going to be okay. The amount of blood that had been spilling from the wound… He had to get out. If the same guys that shot Dean had him… he was in a world of trouble.

Sam started to yank at the rope tied around his wrists. Rubbing his hands together, he attempted to try and loosen the rope enough so that he would be able to get his hands free. After a few minutes of trying, the young hunter gave up. All he was getting was severe rope burn. Whoever had tied him up knew what they were doing.

All of a sudden the car came to a stop. It was so abrupt that Sam was flung against the wall of the trunk, his head slamming into something metal. Gasping as pain ricocheted through his skull, Sam screwed his eyes shut in an attempt to keep himself from crying out.

Seconds later there as a loud thunk as someone unlocked the trunk and he was manhandled from the car. He could hear several voices talking; all of them male and a shot of fear hit him as he recognized the main voice as the one who had shot Dean. How the hell had the demon survived being shot in the face?

There was a quick tug near his ankles and Sam felt the rope give way. Someone must have cut it. He was pushed in the back with what felt like a pistol, which Sam took as an indication to start walking. The ground was uneven and the young teen stumbled several times, although not being able to see didn't help matters much at all.

They seemed to walk forever and through the pounding in his head, Sam could vaguely hear the men talking amongst themselves.

"What the hell are we gonna do with the kid, huh? It was a really dumb idea to grab him. His father's gonna be looking for us now you idiot!"

There was a snort of disbelief before someone else spoke up. "You're the idiot! You think that after shooting his other son, John Winchester wouldn't be after your ass?"

"Uh… Well, what are we gonna do with the kid anyway? Winchester needs to pay for what he did, but how do we exact our revenge through the youngest?"

A short, cruel laugh penetrated the air. "We torture the kid of course, and then send his remains back to his father – along with evidence…"

Several others started laughing at the statement and Sam found himself shaking. They were going to kill him. A few tears leaked out and trailed down his cheeks at the revelation.

Dad… where are you?

-SUPERNATURAL-

Bobby Singer sat in the waiting room at the local hospital. He had been there for hours, doing exactly what the room suggested – waiting. As soon as John had called and informed him of what had happened, Bobby had jumped on the first available flight and now, hours later, he was still waiting to hear news of the boy he loved like a son.

"Mr. Winchester?"

Bobby's head shot up like a rocket. A tall doctor who looked like he was in his late forties was standing in the entrance to the waiting room. He held a clipboard in his hand.

"Singer," Bobby stated. "Bobby Singer. John Winchester's my brother."

The doctor nodded, taking the information as it came. "Would you like to come with me Mr. Singer? I'd like to discuss your nephew's condition."

Swallowing, the aged hunter followed the doctor into a small examination room that held a desk and a few chairs as well as the typical examination equipment. Bobby let himself slump into one of the chairs while the doctor sat in the one behind the desk. Seeing the sombre look that had settled on his features, Bobby felt his stomach drop.

"How's Dean?"

"First off, I'd just like to introduce myself. My name is Doctor Murdock. I was the head surgeon operating on your nephew."

Nodding, Bobby motioned for the surgeon to continue.

"Dean survived the initial surgery, although we did lose him once on the table when his blood pressure bottomed out and he coded."

Bobby couldn't help the gasp of horror. Dean had died on the table…

"Like I said, we managed to get him back quickly and even though it was touch-and-go from there on in, he pulled through. However, it's not going to be an easy recovery for Dean. The bullet managed to inflict a fair amount of damage. The bullet entered just under his ribcage, managing to nick the lower rib and shattered, ricocheting before several pieces lodged themselves in his liver and small intestine. He had severe internal bleeding, which we had to stop before there was any chance of repairing the damage done.

"Luckily, the bullet only nicked his rib and we found the rib fragment easily and removed it without hassle. The bullet fragment that entered his liver was also, thankfully, an easy fix and didn't require much more than a few stitches here and there as the splinter of bullet hadn't managed to travel that far into his liver.

"It was the slivers that entered his small intestine that proved to be the most difficult. Somehow, when the bullet hit the rib, they travelled down his body and avoided his liver and kidneys before entering his intestines."

The doctor showed the bullet's path as it had travelled through Dean's body on a chart on the wall.

"Now, with the bullets perforating the lining of the intestines there was only so much we could do. The easiest and safest option for Dean was to remove the part of the intestine where the bullet fragments had hit. If we had dug around trying to remove the fragments separately, it would have taken a lot longer and he could have very easily bled out. In the end, we removed a few inches of his small intestine and so far he is stable."

Bobby let out a sigh of relief at the word 'stable'.

"However… with a wound to the intestines, it is always dangerous. A lot of bacteria is stored in the intestines and when something perforates them, that bacteria can spill out and lead to horrible infections in the abdominal cavity. Luckily, nothing along those lines has happened yet, but we are pumping him full of the best antibiotics we have available just in case. If it were to happen, there is a high probability that he won't make it. We're currently monitoring his heart rate and body temperature very closely."

Bobby felt like someone had kicked him in the gut. And the way the doctor was looking at him, there was more to come.

"I'm very sorry Mr. Singer, but even if Dean makes it through, there is always a chance years down the track that an infection could pop up and cause a draining hole in the abdomen called a fistula. But in this day and age, with medicine the way it is, it is highly unlikely if he takes good care of himself. It's going to be a long recovery for him."

The wizened hunter slumped further into the chair. Even though Dean had pulled through the initial surgery, it was still highly likely that he could die from bacteria escaping his intestines. He hoped like hell John found the bastard who had done this to him and sent him kicking and screaming back to Hell.


	7. Chapter 7

(Saturday - early morning)

Sam Winchester wriggled in the chair as he attempted to squeeze his wrists out of the handcuffs linking him to the chair. He could feel blood dripping down his hands as the metal chaffed and cut the soft flesh. The blood was helping make his hands and wrists more slippery, but the demons had tightened the cuffs too much and it wasn't helping much.

He was currently cuffed to the chair, his hands pulled behind the back with each wrist attached to either side. His legs were tied with rope to the chair legs, making it virtually impossible for him to escape.

There was a gag stuffed in his mouth; some kind of old, disgusting piece of cloth that had seen better days. They'd removed the bag over his head, but Sam found it wasn't much use anyway. He was stuck in a small room, with no windows and only the one door to get in or out.

The demons hadn't been back into the room since they'd dropped him in there before tying him up. He could hear them chatting away on the other side of the door, with laughter travelling through the walls every now and then.

Tears began to leak from his dark eyes as the bleak situation began to sink in to the youngest of the Winchesters. He didn't want to die. His Dad had to come and find him. It was like a rule or something, wasn't it?

And Dean… Sam didn't even know if his brother was still alive. The last he'd seen of him was when his elder brother had been lying in a pool of his own blood as the paramedics frantically tried to save his life.

Sammy had no idea how long he'd been stuck in the room. It was pitch black, the only light entering the room was from the sight crack underneath the door. He was tired, hungry, hurt and scared. He just wanted to go home.

Sam's head shot up as the door creaked open. Light flooded the small room and Sam turned his head to the side as the light blinded him temporarily. A sob escaped as he screwed his eyes shut, hearing the heavy footsteps coming towards him.

"Sammy…" A hand reached up and petted his cheek. "Poor little Sammy Winchester," the voice mocked. "Daddy isn't here to save you now…"

The young hunter squirmed and shook his head, trying to get the hand off his face. It was creeping him out. He yelled against the rag in his mouth, but still kept his eyes closed. The hand stayed on his face, stroking his cheek lightly before running up and across his forehead. Sam tried to hold back a sob but was unsuccessful as he jerked slightly, a single tear leaking from his eye before trailing down his face.

"Open your eyes, little Sammy," the voice said, this time in a creepy sing-song kind of way. Sam refused, adamant to keep his eyes screwed shut. He yelped against the gag as the hand on his face was removed before coming back in a harsh slap.

"Open your fucking eyes!" The hand slapped him again, more forceful this time. Sam's head snapped to the side, his eyes opening on impulse and he got his first look at his kidnappers.

It was the shooter from the dance.

Shit.

Normally he wasn't one to swear, but Sam felt this wasn't the time to really care about it. Dean would have been proud.

"Now, listen up Sammy. I'm gonna take this rag outta your mouth, but you're going to have to be a good boy and not scream, okay?" the demon spoke, his voice darkening as he outlined what he expected from Sam.

Sam said nothing. He glared at the demon as it reached behind him and untied the gag. Sam spat out the offending piece of material, trying to get of the horrible taste it left in his mouth. Then he opened his mouth to scream. There was no way he was going to make this easy for the demon. As a fist came flying at his face and pain blossomed through his head, Sam wished his dad would hurry up and find him.

He didn't know how long he would be able to hold on.

John threw the phone across the room, watching in disturbed glee as it shattered against the wall and fell to the floor in hundreds of pieces. He'd called almost every contact in his journal, trying to find information about the demons and who might have taken Sam. John had his money bet on the demons at the dance, but he had to be sure.

The police had been useless. They had no leads, no suspects, no nothing. They hadn't even managed to apprehend the shooters! Of course, John knew that the shooters were demons and it would have taken a hell of a lot more than what regular police had to take them down. But that wasn't an excuse. His thirteen-year-old son was missing, presumed kidnapped, and the police had no idea where to start looking! So he decided to screw the police and do it himself.

He'd called Pastor Jim Murphy first, but found the elder priest was unavailable due to a crisis at his church. Jefferson had been next and immediately the man had gone to work trying to find out anything he could, and his good friend Caleb was driving over from three states away as fast as could.

Then he'd called Bobby. The older hunter was sitting with Dean at the hospital and had informed him that his eldest was out of surgery and had pulled through like a champ. There had been mentions of something about his liver and small intestine, but John hadn't paid much attention after finding out that his son was still alive. He needed to focus on Sam. Dean had Bobby. Who did Sammy have?

"Dammit!" he yelled, fighting the itch to throw something else against the motel wall. How the hell had everything gone to shit so fast? Only hours before hand he'd been saying goodbye to the boys as Sammy went off to the dance and Dean drove him.

Now Dean was lying in a hospital bed, a gunshot wound in his stomach and Sammy had been kidnapped!

What the hell was he going to do?

Running a hand through his unkempt hair, John took a deep breath before releasing it slowly. Getting himself worked up wasn't going to help anyone. He needed to stay calm, for his boys. Pulling his journal back into his lap, the hunter flicked back through the pages until he landed on the one he had scribbled about demons.

Jefferson had mentioned something about an exorcism to get rid of the demon. John was a little sceptical about it, but was willing to give anything a go, especially since ordinary bullets didn't seem to be doing the trick.

Sliding off the bed, John put the journal open on the table and grabbed the duffel bag that was lying open on the chair. He dropped it on the table next to his journal and started rifling through it, pulling out random weapons as he read the few pages on demons.

Once he'd gone through the entire bag and found absolutely nothing that would help him, John let out a feral growl. Why the hell wasn't anything going his way?! Gripping his hands into fists, the hunter reached over and was about to punch a fist-sized hole in the wall when there was a knock on the motel door.

Snapping out of his rage (which he'd just finished telling himself moments before hand wouldn't help at all) he stalked over to the door and flung it open, glaring at whomever was brave enough to disturb him. It was the motel's receptionist; a skinny guy in his late teens with a face full of acne and a shock of black hair.

And right then, he looked as though he was about to piss his pants.

"M…Mister Winchester, S-Sir?" the young man stuttered. "There's a…a phone call for y-you. They said it was… urgent."

John frowned. Urgent? A sinking feeling stole his breath away as he stood in the doorway. It wasn't the hospital was it? With a sense of urgency racing through his veins, John pushed past the desk attendant and stormed into the small office.

Seeing the phone lying on the desk, John picked up before barking a gruff 'hello' and tried to hide the fear that was growing by the second.

"John? It's Jefferson."

The hunter let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. It was only Jefferson. But why the hell hadn't the other hunter just called his room?

A laugh echoed on the other end of the line and John realised that he must have said those last thoughts out loud. "I kept getting the 'line busy' signal, John. So I called the reception instead."

Immediately John felt like an idiot. He'd forgotten that only minutes before he'd thrown the room's phone against the wall in a fit of rage. Whoops.

"What've you got Jefferson?" he said instead, not wanting the other hunter to know of his slip up.

"Well you see, John. Here's the thing…"

It was dark. He couldn't see a thing. He was floating in what seemed an ocean of solitude. There was no-one around, not a single soul to be seen in any direction. He felt like he as forgetting something important, but as soon as his mind grasped it, it once again slipped out of his reach – like a feather on the tide, being carried out to sea.

There was no pain. Why he was thinking about pain was beyond him. Should he be in pain? Why would he want to be in pain? Painless was good, especially when they had you on the good drugs. But then why would he be on drugs? Nothing was making sense. Thoughts were flickering through his mind, his brain seemingly unable to filter anything out.

He stared at his hand. It somehow appeared in front of his face. Several of his fingers were crooked, probably from having broken them several times over the past few years. There was a silver ring present on one of his fingers. It seemed to mean something, but the meaning was lost in the sea.

And why was he in the sea? And hadn't it been dark a moment ago? What was going on?

Forgetting about his hand, he looked around him. He was floating in what looked like the ocean. Behind him it was dark, almost pure black. But in front of him it was light, almost like the sun was peeking over the horizon, bathing the entire scenery in a blinding white light.

Something about the light brushed against his mind. Was it that you were supposed to stay out of the light? Or were you supposed to go into it? He couldn't remember. His brain was like a French fry, all mushy in the centre but coated in crispiness.

Where the hell had that analogy come from? It made no sense at all.

Suddenly he found himself floating towards the light. Okay, so maybe the saying was that you were supposed to go towards the light. Maybe?

He pondered on the thought, but before he could very far his eyes shot open and he gasped. Hang on, he thought his eyes had been open?

Blinking, he looked at the white lights hovering above him. A strange beeping noise filled the void, echoing in a steady rhythm of beats. He opened his mouth to say something but all that came out was a hoarse croak.

He coughed and turned his head to the side. Someone was sitting next to him. Where was he?

It all came back to him in a flash. Arguing with Sammy. The school dance. Shots fired. Sneaking into the building. Another shot. Black eyes. Pain.

Sammy!

"Whoa there, Dean. Take it easy…" A gruff voice spoke from beside him. He blinked again, trying to bring the figure into focus.

"Bobby?"

Bobby Singer smiled as Dean stared at him with glazed eyes. The kid was doped to the eyeballs; had been muttering some weird things about the ocean and his fingers and then a white light. He smiled at Dean's confused gaze.

"Good to see you awake, kiddo."

"Sammy?"

Looking into Dean's wide green eyes, Bobby didn't know what to tell him.


	8. Chapter 8

(Saturday - mid morning)

Dean fidgeted in the hospital bed, grimacing at the stiches in his stomach pulled and sent a barb of pain racing through his torso. It had been several hours since he had woken from the surgery, disorientated and groggy. He remembered seeing Bobby sitting next to his bed and had wondered where his dad was, but had quickly slipped back into the blessed oblivion of drugged sleep.

The young hunter could hear the steady beep from the heart monitor beside his bed and wondered when they were going to remove it. Nurses had come in sometime after his first awakening and removed the oxygen cannula, so why wasn't the heart monitor gone?

He shifted again; face screwing up in discomfort as he felt the two IV needles in his arm shift with him. There was one inserted into the back of his left arm, while the other was poked into the soft skin near the crook of his elbow. Both were disturbing clear liquid into his blood stream.

He turned and looked towards where the chairs were placed for visitors to sit in. Bobby wasn't there. He had been there for most of his brief periods of lucidness, but he was missing now. Dean didn't mind too much. He was just wondering where his dad was. Normally when he landed himself in hospital, his dad never left his side.

And where was Sammy? The last thing Dean remembered was the agonising pain of the bullet wound, staring up into his little brother's eyes as he faded into unconsciousness. He could remember someone telling him to breathe, but it felt disjointed and unreal, like a dream.

Wanting to find out what the hell was going on; Dean pressed his palms on the surface of the bed and started to push himself up into a sitting position. The moment his stomach muscles contracted, Dean gasped as white hot pain ripped through his abdomen. He collapsed back into the pillows, screwing his eyes shut in an attempt to alleviate the pain. He could hear the heart monitor beeping wildly in the background as a door was pushed open and several people rushed in.

"Dean? Dean, can you hear me?" A disembodied voice asked him as he lay there, gasping like a fish out of water. He felt the cold plastic of an oxygen mask being placed over his mouth and the cool relief of high-quality air flowed into his lungs.

Someone fiddled with his IV bag and moments later the sandy-haired teen felt the medication hit his bloodstream in a cold rush.

Dean looked up to where a man in a white coat was standing, his eyes rolling listlessly in his head as the medication got to work.

"Dean?" the man spoke and Dean recognised it as the voice from before. He nodded slightly, feeling as if his head was no longer attached to his body. Oh, he was on the good drugs. Feeling all floaty, Dean attempted to listen to what the doctor was saying. He could hear things about antibiotics and probably infection, stitches and something about his intestines?

Feeling the strong pull of sleep, Dean decided it would be futile to try and fight it and quickly succumbed to the powerful medication coursing through his veins.

The next time he woke, Bobby was seated in one of the hard plastic chairs next to the bed. The elder hunter was asleep, his head bowed forward with his chin resting on his chest. It was beginning to lighten outside, small shafts of light filtering through the hospital blinds.

Dean took inventory. The heart monitor was gone, as was the oxygen mask. However, both IV lines were still in place, taped so that there was less of a chance of accidently pulling them out. He took in an experimental breath, wincing as he inhaled, the dull throb of pain in his stomach intensifying.

"Bobby?" he spoke, wincing again as he heard his voice. He sounded like a 70-year-olc chain smoker. Dean coughed, trying to clear his throat before trying again. "Bobby!"

Bobby's head shot up and Dean caught sight of the wild, confused stare as he looked around to see who had called his name. It took several moments, but finally Bobby's gaze landed on him.

"Dean… You're awake," the elder man said with a smile. "And semi lucid," he added as an afterthought.

"Where's my dad? And Sammy?"

Bobby didn't answer straight away and that sent a bad feeling rocketing through Dean. What had happened?

"Bobby?"

Bobby sighed, reaching up and shifting the cap resting on his head slightly. "I should get your doctor," he finally said at length. Dean gaped at him. Was he avoiding the question? Oh god, were they dead? Had the demons killed his dad and little brother?

"Dean! Calm down!" Dean ignored him, his mind caught up in the whirlwind of possibilities that had just been revealed to him.

Oh god… they're dead! The demons killed them. It's all my fault!

A hand gripped his chin, forcing his head to turn and his gaze looked onto Bobby's. "They're not dead, Dean. And it's not your fault. You did everything you could, kiddo."

Oh shit, he'd said that out loud?

"Then where are they Bobby?" He believed Bobby when he said they weren't dead; nevertheless there was still something not quite right. Bobby was hiding something from him. He would find out, there was no doubt about that.

And if Bobby said they weren't dead, then why was there this horrible feeling deep in the pit of his stomach?

Sam bit his lip in an attempt not to cry out as a fist flew towards his face again. Seconds later, a loud crack echoed in the small room and pain erupted from his now-broken nose. They'd only just begun the psychical torture again, having left him alone for what seemed like hours after the initial interrogation.

It hadn't been as bad as what he'd been expecting. They'd hit him a few times, mainly on his torso but the head demon had landed a few punches on his face. But the weird thing was the questions. They kept asking about his dad; where he was, what he was planning. Sam couldn't answer any of their questions. He had no idea what they were talking about.

"I don't know!" he cried, flinching as the demon surged forward. Sam screwed his eyes shut and turned his head away, anticipating the punch. But nothing happened.

Slowly, he turned his back to the front and opened an eye a slit. He gasped, eyes widening and his breathing quickening as he found himself staring directly into the obsidian eyes of the demon.

"I don't… I don't know what you want from me!" he stuttered, fear edging into his voice as the demon loomed closer. "Please!"

This wasn't supposed to happen. He had just wanted to go to a normal school dance for once. Instead, the dance was held hostage by demons, his brother had been shot and now he'd been kidnapped! Sam felt hot tears streak down his face, a cut on his cheek stinging as the salty liquid seeped into it.

"What we want…" the demon whispered in a low, silky voice into his ear, "is for you to tell us everything about Daddy dearest."

"No!" Sam screamed, a burst of courage bursting from within. He watched in satisfaction as the demon jerked back, anger flashing across its face.

"Little shit!" it screamed, a fist lashing out and catching him on the side of his jaw. Sam cried out before spitting blood out of his mouth where one of his teeth had cut the inside of his mouth. The same crimson liquid spilled down his chin from where his lip had split.

Sam stared at the demon as felt the blood dripping off his chin and onto his shirt; he watched as the black eyes flickered back to normal and he watched in horror as an evil smirk lifted the side of its mouth.

The demon spun around and left the room, barking an order to another demon to stand guard and make sure he didn't do anything stupid. The door was slammed shut, darkness overtaking the room once again.

He could hear them talking on the other side of the door, their voices growing stronger as they became more furious. Sam allowed himself to smile a little at that. They hadn't beaten him yet. He'd held out so far, but he wasn't sure how much longer he could last.

"What the hell are we going to do? I want John Winchester's head on a stick! He'll pay for what he's done and if that means sending him little Sammy's body in a bag, then so be it."

"Yeah! Bastard's gotta pay. No one messes with us and gets away with it! And if that doesn't work, I have sources who tell me where the older boy is. He'll be easy pickings too; just got out of surgery a few hours ago."

Sam's eyes widened in the darkness. Dean was alive! The small minute of elation faded quickly as the last part of the demon's sentence sunk in. They knew where Dean was; they could get to him if they needed.

What had his dad done to piss them off so much?

It was in the confines of the blackened room that Sam broke down. Beaten, bloody and terrified, Sam Winchester prayed for someone to help him.

John paced around the room, hands continuously running through his hair or rubbing at his temples. Things were not looking good.

He'd gotten off the phone with Jefferson roughly an hour earlier, his mind reeling. The other hunter was a specialist in demons, hence the reason he had contacted the man in hopes of finding something out. He hadn't found out much, only that he'd heard through the grapevine there was a group of demons out to get him. Jefferson didn't know why, but had stated that it was very likely they would kidnap his son to get to him.

He'd also mentioned the exorcism again. John had tried out a different kind of exorcism a few months before. It had worked, but had brought on some serious side effects as well. The demon had been killed, the exorcism had left John so exhausted he'd collapsed and had woken hours later, barely making it out of the old house before the police barged in.

So, naturally, John was sceptical about this one Jefferson was going on about.

"Dammit!"

Caleb had also called from the road. He was only an hour out of town and would be there as fast as he could. It was the news from Caleb that had everything spinning out of control. His friend had heard through a contact that yes, there was a demon group out there gunning for him. But unlike Jefferson, Caleb had found out why.

It had been the exorcism gone wrong.

Caleb had dug a little deeper, scoured through some of his more dodgy contacts and had found out the demon he had exorcized had been the leader of a small band of the black-eyed bastards who had escaped from Hell when a rookie hunter had accidently opened a Devil's Gate in Boston.

Now the rest of the group was after revenge for the death of their leader.

And they'd taken Sam to do it.

He gripped his hands into tight fists as he thought of his other son lying injured in a hospital bed. Dean was vulnerable there, even with Bobby watching over him. If they didn't get what they wanted from Sam, John had no doubt in his mind that they'd go after his oldest son.

Making a decision, the father of two grabbed the Impala's keys. He locked the motel room door behind him and slid in behind the wheel of the black beast. Seconds later, the back tyres were squealing as he shot out of the motel car park and towards the hospital. He had to see that Dean was okay with his own eyes.

Dean listened as his doctor blurted out a large amount of medical information that apparently had something to do with him. He knew the basics of what had happened to him – now that he was a little more lucid. The young hunter was still on the good drugs, but they'd lessened the amount being administered so that he was able to hold a conversation for more than ten minutes.

He knew that the bullet had hit just under his ribcage, nicking a lower rib before shattering and piercing his liver. Apparently that had been the easy part. The other fragments of the bullet chose to avoid his kidneys and liver, deciding that his small intestine looked much tastier.

"It was a lot less risky to remove the fragments this way, so we removed a few inches of the intestine."

That made Dean look up, aghast. "What?" They'd removed part of his intestine? Why the hell would anyone do that? Dean wasn't a whizz at anything relating to the human body – in fact he found it down right boring – but even he knew that removing any part of a (or whole) organ was risky.

The doctor sighed. "There will be no lasting effects due to the small amount we took. It was a lot safer for you, in that it saved us from having to dig around for hours trying to locate every little piece, and it shortened your recovery time by quite a bit."

Oh. Well, that made it just a little bit better.

"So when can I get out of here?" he smirked at Bobby when he said it, knowing it would irritate the older man. True to word, Bobby groaned, rolling his eyes.

"Not for at least a few days, young man. You've been through a very traumatic ordeal. This was a high-risk surgery no matter how you looked at it, even with taking the safer route regarding the intestine. You were shot not twenty-four hours ago and to be honest, I'm extremely surprised that you're even awake right now."

Dean sighed. So he wasn't going to be getting out of here any time soon. He slumped against the pillows, which had been plumped up so that he was able to elevate his upper body slightly.

A voice rang out over the intercom, stating that Doctor Murdock was required in Trauma One. The doctor shot them an apologetic look before turning and flinging the door open, only to come face to face with John Winchester.

He bowed his head in apology before sweeping past.

"Dad!" Dean exclaimed, pulling himself up further with a wince. "You're okay!" He stuck his head to the side and tried to see past his father; to see if Sammy was with him.

"Hey, champ," his dad said as he entered the small room. "How you feeling?"

Dean opened his mouth to say he was fine, but shut it with a click at the look Bobby shot him.

"He's on the good drugs. The doctor wants to keep him in for at least a few more days, just to make sure there's no infection brewing. They're pumping him full of antibiotics around the clock."

John nodded. "Good. Caleb's going to be here in just under an hour. I need your help with something, so Caleb's agreed to stay with Dean while we're gone."

The injured hunter frowned as he heard his dad talk to Bobby. Caleb was coming? What did his dad need with Bobby? And where the hell was Sam?

"Where's Sam?" He asked, watching as both adults froze when they heard his younger brother's name. Immediately Dean was on edge. "What the hell is going on!? First Caleb's coming to town, now you need Bobby for something secretive and Sam's nowhere to be seen? Dad?"

Bobby and John shared a look before they both took a seat, his dad pulling over the chair to sit right beside his bed. Dean looked down as his dad grabbed his un-IV-ed hand before glancing back up at his father's face. Something was seriously wrong.

"Dad?" he whispered, hating how young and scared his voice sounded.

"Dean…" John started, wondering how on earth he was going to tell Dean. "After you got shot… something happened." Dean stayed silent, waiting for his father to continue.

"The paramedics were working on you, trying to keep you breathing. I looked away for a second and when I looked back… he was gone."

"Gone?" Dean's eyes widened. "What the hell do you mean, he was gone!?"

"The hall was empty, Dean. We think Sam's been kidnapped by the same demons who took you hostage. The police can't find them."

Dean couldn't believe it. After everything he had done to keep his brother safe, his father had allowed the bastards to fucking kidnap him!?

He had to save his brother.

In one fluid motion, Dean yanked out the IVs in his arm and started to swing his legs over the side of the bed, cursing as the pain in his stomach exploded. He was on his feet before his father or Bobby could do anything.

His moment of bravado didn't last long as seconds after he stood, his knees buckled and he collapsed into his dad's arms. The last thing he heard was Bobby yelling for a doctor

"S'mmmy…"


	9. Chapter 9

(Saturday - mid afternoon)

Dean winced as he ripped the IV out of the crook of his left elbow, feeling the small spark of pain as the needle slid from his vein. Instantly the clear liquid squirted all over the hospital sheets, staining the white material dark. Pushing the tubing to the side, it fell off the bed and landed on the floor. He then moved his right hand down and pulled off the white tape holding the second IV in place on the back of his left hand.

Grimacing as the tape pulled at the sensitive skin, Dean threw the tape to the side and gripped the stem of the needle. He pulled it out slowly, eliciting a hiss as the needle caught on his skin as it was freed. As before, a clear liquid started spilling out the end. Following suit from the earlier attempt, the IV line was thrown aside.

Removing the nasal cannula from around his face, the green-eyed teen stretched a little to test the pull of the stitches in his abdomen. He didn't want a repeat of earlier. Sliding his legs over the edge of the bed, Dean shuffled forward so that he was sitting on the edge. His legs dangled in the air, not quite long enough to reach the ground.

Hestitating, the young hunter recalled the pain that had assaulted him the last time he had tried this. He clenched his fists, quietly muttering to himself.

"C'mon, Dean… Get your shit together. Sammy needs you."

Bracing his hands on the edge, he slowly inched his way off the bed, trying to hold his weight with his arms until his feet could land firmly on the ground. Seconds he felt a jolt run through his battered body as his feet took his weight. Letting out a slow and shaky breath, he readied himself for the next task.

He placed a hand over the wound on his stomach and very painstakingly slowly straightened up. The stitches pulled taut as his muscles stretched. Dean screwed his eyes shut as a dull throb settled where the gunshot wound and subsequent surgery incisions were.

He had to ride through the pain – for Sammy. His brother was missing, taken by the demons that had shot him. There was no telling what those bastards were doing to him. He was the big brother; it was his job to protect Sam.

It had taken him almost ten minutes to get to a standing position. He still had the issue of actually walking out of the room and managing to sneak past his doctors and Caleb – who was currently on a coffee run and would be back any minute now.

Dean shuffled towards the door, relived that he was dressed in a pair of scrubs instead of one of the hideous gowns with the open back they sometimes gave you instead. He had opened the door and stepped through when the very last person he wanted to see turned the corner. Dean froze, wondering how the hell he was going to get out of this one.

"Dean?" Caleb was angry. "What the fuck are you doing out of bed!?" Oh yeah, he was furious. The injured teen shrugged.

"Wanted to get some air? It's suffocating in there," he tried, knowing full well it wasn't going to work with the older hunter.

His dad and Bobby had left hours earlier. They were heading to the police station to see if the cops had made any progress in Sammy's kidnapping. Dean was hoping that they would come back with some valuable information. But in the meantime, they'd left Caleb to watch over him. He'd originally argued that he wanted to go with them, but none of the three older hunters were budging on the matter.

It also didn't help that he'd almost torn his stitches when he'd vaulted out of the hospital bed earlier that day. He'd been unconscious for a few hours and when he'd woken, Caleb had been there. His dad and Bobby left pretty much immediately after that.

So when the chance had risen for him to get out of the hospital, Dean had taken it. But he'd taken too long and now he was going to be in some serious trouble. Crap.

"Goddam it, Dean!" Caleb grabbed his arm and started pulling him back towards his room. "You could've injured yourself more, or ripped your stitches! What the hell were you thinking?"

Dean stopped and turned, pinning the older hunter with a glare. "I was thinking that my little brother has been kidnapped by psycho demons and I had to do everything I could to get him back!"

The furious expression on Caleb's face seemed to melt away, morphing into something akin to regret and sympathy. Dean saw this and frowned.

"I don't want your sympathy, Caleb! I want my brother back!"

"I know, Dean… I know. But you've got to take care of yourself too, y'know?" Caleb paused as Dean hung his head. "Now get back into bed, you little shit," he grinned," and I might even be nice enough to give you this second cup of coffee I somehow managed to acquire… once the doctor has come in and re-inserted those IVs you ripped out."

Dean grinned weakly back as he saw the second polystyrene cup, even as the IV situation was brought up. He was starting to feel the effects of his little, extremely short, excursion and he wasn't sure how long he would be able to stay standing.

His hand still lingering over the wound on his stomach, the injured hunter shuffled back to the bed. He really was starting to feel like shit. The dull throb that had been present had morphed into a raging wave of pain, spreading outwards from his surgery wounds.

Ten minutes later, he was back in bed (after reluctantly accepting Caleb's help). The IVs were back in, complete with a stern warning from the doctor about infection and taking care of the stitches. The pain medication was once again flowing through his veins and as the cup of coffee sat forgotten on the bedside table, Dean drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

John strode into the police station, Bobby right on his heels. They were both exhausted, having not slept much the night before and then the issues with Dean trying to escape the hospital bed and ending up almost ripping out his stitches. John wished desperately for some much-needed sleep, but there was no time to rest. He would rest once his youngest son was back, safe and sound.

The police station was busy; cops rushing in and out of the reception area, taking calls and having very heated conversations. John knew that a lot of the commotion was due to the shooting the night before. They were all on the hunt for the 'people' who had held the dance hostage before killing a teacher and shooting his son.

"How may I help you gentlemen today?" the middle-aged woman at the reception desk asked as they approached. She was wearing a simple dark blue three-piece suit that complimented kind blue eyes, topped off with a dazzling smile. John frowned. There was such a thing as being too happy. He really wasn't in the mood to be friendly. He wanted to find his son, and fast.

"I need to see the detective in charge of the school dance shooting," he demanded, leaning on the counter and glaring at the women. The receptionist didn't flinch at his gruff tone and John silently admitted she had guts. It was fairly obvious that she dealt with angry people on a daily basis.

"And what is the reason for your need to see the detective in charge?" Her tone had dropped significantly. John clenched his fists down by his sides and bared his teeth. He really wasn't in the mood for this shit. They had called ahead and said that they were coming, for fucks sake! It wasn't until he felt a hand grip his shoulder tightly that he relaxed his muscles a little.

"My name is John Winchester. My sons were involved in the shooting last night," he growled. "One is in hospital after being shot and my youngest son is missing. I need to speak to the detective in charge, now!"

The women's eyes widened and John watched as she momentarily lost the ability to speak, her mouth doing a pretty bloody fine impersonation of a goldfish.

"R-right away, Sir. One moment," she picked a phone and spoke a few words before turning back to them. "If you'd just like to take a seat, Detective Burkett will be with you momentarily."

John moved over to where the seating was situated, but didn't sit, instead he leant against the pale orange wall and swept the entire room with beaded eyes. Bobby sat in the nearest chair, resting back and closing his eyes.

Surprisingly, it did only take a few minutes for a tall, dark-haired detective to walk into the reception area. "Mr. Winchester?" John turned towards the man, quickly giving him a once-over. He was an older man, easily in his mid to late forties with dark hair and equally dark eyes. He was however, not dressed in the typical police garb, instead choosing to wear a pair of tidy blue jeans and black button-down shirt.

John felt instantly at ease.

"I'm John Winchester," he said as he pushed himself off the wall. He nodded his head towards Bobby. "This is my brother, Bobby Singer." They were going to keep the brother routine up as it would more beneficial in the long run.

Detective Burkett nodded. "Follow me, gentlemen. We'll talk in my office."

John followed the detective through a plain door and down a long corridor. They came to another plain door, this one adorned with a gold plaque with Detective Burkett engraved in the middle in black lettering.

They were ushered into the room. Bobby sat down in one of the three chairs facing a large, wooden desk. John opted to stand again, folding his arms across his chest. Burkett sat in the comfy leather chair situated on the other side of the desk.

"First off," he started, his lips pressed together in a grim line. "How's you're older son doing? I heard that he was taken into surgery last night."

The seasoned hunter nodded, pleasantly surprised that the detective was taking an interest in Dean. "He came through fine," he responded. "Had a few inches of his small intestine removed and they're keeping a close eye in case of infection, but he's doing well."

Burkett smiled. "That's good to hear. But I know that you're not here to discuss Dean. It's Sam we want to focus on."

"Do you have any leads on where those bastards took my son?" John was getting antsy. If the police had no leads, then they were right back to square one. The detective breathed out slowly and looked down, sending a sharp bolt of disappointment and urgency through John's stomach. It wasn't looking good.

"Unfortunately," Burkett started, "we've not managed to gather any leads as to your son's whereabouts. However, we have succeeded in naming three of the suspects in the shooting and are attempting to get in contact with family members of those three men, as all of them have vanished. We're hoping go get some information from this point of attack that will give us any leads as to where they might have taken Sam.

"But, you've also got to realise that it's not even a one hundred per cent certainty that it was this group of individuals that kidnapped your son."

John saw red. It was obvious who had taken his son! It was those slimy scum-filled, black-eyed bastards! And if the police didn't know that, then there was nothing they could do to help him. He was going to have to find his son himself.

"Then I have no further need of your assistance." John stood, watching as the detective's face morphed into one of shock. "I'll find my son myself."

He heard Burkett calling out to him as he strode out of the room, Bobby following. He could feel Bobby's glare on his back, but ignored it. Obviously the police were ignorant of the facts laid right in front of their faces. If he left it in their hands, his son was as good as dead. He might as well get a gun and shoot Sammy himself.

"Mr. Winchester!"

Ignoring the detective again, John stalked down the hall and pushed the door to the reception area open with a loud bang. Heads turned towards him in a rush, eyes widening as they saw the extremely angry man forcing his way through the large-spaced room.

"Mr. Winchester! Wait!"

Furious, John spun around and faced the detective. "My son could be dying, and all you have is speculation! You're not even sure who the hell took him! Well, I'm not waiting. I know who kidnapped my son and if you're not going to be competent enough to do your fucking job, then I'll do it for you!" In some secluded part of his brain, the hunter knew that he was being unreasonable, but the rest of his brain smothered that thought quickly. Sam's life was at stake and those demons weren't going to rest until they had what they wanted – him.

"Come on, John. Let's head back to the hospital. See if Caleb's heard anything," Bobby spoke calmly and placed a hand on his shoulder, steering the angered father out of the police station all the while ignoring the curious stares being shot their way. John couldn't help but think of his son and what he might be going through. No matter how much he hoped he was okay, the father of two knew the demon's would not be acting kindly towards his boy.

"Where is he!?" screamed one of the demons, face inches from his own. Sam bucked backwards at the close contact, screwing his eyes closed and turning his head to the right.

"I… I don't know!" he gasped as a hand wrapped around his throat. The fingers tightened around his neck and started to cut of his supply of oxygen. Sam struggled against the hold, his hands automatically wanting to come up and attempt to pry away the pressure. Unfortunately all that did was cause a sharp spike of pain to spread from his wrists that were still enclosed in handcuffs. He opened his mouth in an effort to try and suck in the precious air, but found that his airways had been completely cut off.

"S-stop…" he croaked, his body beginning to tremble as he was slowly starved of air. Black spots danced in his vision and he could feel himself beginning to drift off; his eyes dropping to half-mast. "Please…" the last word was a whisper, barely audible over the rushing in his ears.

Just as he thought he was going to pass out, the hand was removed from his throat. His eyes widened in shock, reflexively taking in a huge, gulping gasp of air that sent him into a rough coughing fit. The young hunter continued to suck in the oxygen greedily, terrified that it would be cut off again. Tears leaked from his eyes before trailing down his bruised and bloody cheeks.

When was it going to end?

Sam leant his head back against the back of the chair, exposing his neck as he tried to alleviate the tightness in his throat. He felt so weak. He'd lost track of time and didn't even know whether it was night or day. If his captors weren't in the room, they left him in complete darkness and he'd quickly learnt that shouting for help wasn't helping either. It just made them mad.

His head lolling to the left, Sam blinked sluggishly. His breath was hitching in his throat, but there was also an underlying wheeze coming from his lungs. He hoped like hell that he wasn't getting sick. He'd been kept in the small room for an unknown amount of time wearing only the clothes he'd been taken in and it wasn't exactly the warmest place on the planet.

"Sam Winchester…" one of the demons purred. Sam flinched at the tone, feeling a sob building in his throat. He couldn't take much more of this.

"Please… don't…" It was obvious by the leering look in the demon's eyes that he had an unnerving interest in him and that freaked Sam out.

"Don't worry little Sammy. I'm not going to hurt you…" The demon then reached behind him and produced a large syringe. Sam's eyes widened. What was the demon planning on doing with that?

Sam squirmed in his seat, tears brimming in his eyes. He screwed his eyes shut and let out a small whimper as the demon pressed the tip of the needle into a vein in the crook of his elbow. Sam opened his eyes a slit, looking as the demon pulled back the plunger and the vial attached to the end began to fill with his blood.

"What… what are you doing?" The young hunter had never known any kind of monster to take such an interest in blood. Vampires drunk it to survive (but they were extinct so that didn't matter) and several other kinds of monsters enjoyed the bloody taste of human flesh, but to extract it with a needle? From his vast and growing knowledge of the supernatural, Sam only knew for blood to be used in witches' spells or particular kinds of summonings.

What had he got himself into?


	10. Chapter 10

(Saturday night)

John's brow furrowed as he listened to what Jefferson was saying. He had received the call only minutes after returning to the motel empty-handed, having just unlocked and walked into his room before the receptionist came running out saying there was an urgent phone call for him. They were only stopping at the motel briefly to have a shower and refresh themselves before heading back to the hospital to see how Dean was going.

His heart had stopped momentarily at the receptionist's words, as every bad scenario raced through his mind.

Thankfully, it hadn't been the hospital, nor had it been a police officer calling to say they'd found Sam's body.

"What the hell are you on about, Jeff?" John growled, gripping the phone tighter. He was standing beside the desk in the motel reception area, Bobby standing in the door way with his arms crossed across his chest.

"What I'm on about John – is that I think you've got a much more serious problem on your hands than we originally thought."

"What could be more serious than one of my sons' in the hospital and the other one missing!?" he snarled, temper rising. He couldn't be bothered dealing with Jefferson's riddles.

"John," the placating tone wafted through the ear piece. "Several locals have gone missing over the past few days. And it's enough to get the authorities worried, as it's a fairly small town and at least twelve reported cases have sprung up. Someone or something is taking them, John."

Sighing in exasperation, the father of two pinched the bridge of his nose as he listened to Jefferson. God, how much more complicated was this going to get? They hadn't been in town that long; just long enough for Sam to make some friends and Dean to start complaining that he hated it. Why now? Why start all this up now?

"John?"

John shook his head, his thoughts disappearing into the foggy recesses of his mind. "So how do these missing persons relate to what's happened with Sam and Dean?" he asked, careful not to mention demons or anything supernatural related. He didn't want to get kicked out of the motel because they thought he was a lunatic.

Jefferson echoed his earlier sigh on the other end of the line. "I don't know how it ties in with what's happened, but I'm certain that it does have something to do with it. It's too much of a coincidence to be just that."

John had to agree with the other hunter's thoughts. It was too much of a coincidence. Twelve people in a town this size was a huge amount. Sure, if it had been somewhere huge like Los Angeles or New York City, then it wouldn't have even made a blip on their radar. But they were currently in a somewhat of a smaller city that had a population of less than fifty thousand.

"Have any of your contacts heard anything about where they could have gone to?"

"Sorry, John. No one knows where the hell they've all gone. It's like they've just vanished off the face of the earth."

"Uhhh, John?" Bobby's voice cut through what Jefferson was saying. John turned to glare at the other man, his eyes widening as he saw another man standing on the other side of the glass doors. But that wasn't what had shocked the hunter.

The man's eyes were black.

"Jefferson I've gotta go. I'll call you back," he said, his voice clipped. The other hunter started to question him, but John hung up the phone, his eyes never leaving the demon standing before him. Striding over to where he stood, he passed Bobby and wrenched the door open. Quickly locking eyes with Bobby, John pushed forward and stepped into the motel car park.

Fists clenching tightly, John struggled to keep the rage burning within him under control. All he wanted to do was beat the fucker into a pulp, but he knew that the demon had come for a reason and he needed to know what that was.

"What the hell do you want?" His voice was a low growl, piercing through the otherwise quiet sky.

The demon smirked, its eyes flashing dangerously before the black leeched out, revealing the original murky blue colour.

"Johnny…" the man tsked, shaking his head as he repeated his name twice more. "You really should know by now. But I see that the rumours are true," the smirk vanished, being replaced by a bored expression mixed with anger. It was definitely an evil look. "You really are stupid, aren't you?"

Snarling lowly, John grit his teeth in an attempt to stop himself from lunging at the asshole. "I repeat – what the hell do you want?"

"I am merely but a messenger," the demon stated as he rolled his neck to the side several times. John heard the hollow clicks as his neck rotated and grimaced slightly. "I have been given the task of delivering you with a message from my superior. One I'm sure you're bound to love."

John froze as the last sarcasm-laced words registered in his brain. Things were not looking good. He sucked in a deep breath, fighting the anger. He felt Bobby move closer, standing just behind him on his right side.

"And what message is that, asshole?"

Another smirk appeared and John almost lost it. The only thing that stopped him from lunging at the prick was Bobby's hand gripping his right forearm tightly. He turned to his friend, biting his teeth together tightly to restrain himself. Bobby shook his head. After taking a few deep breaths, John spun back to the demon, who was looking at them in poorly disguised glee.

"The message is this." The demon's eyes flickered back to black before cocking his head to the side and grinning. "We have your son, Sammy… And we're having so much fun with him. His screams have been music to our ears. I would tell you where he is, but I don't feel like it. And your other son… Dean is it? We know where he is too, Johnny."

John froze. Oh god, they knew where Dean was. They had Sammy and now had their sights set on his eldest.

"And just to be nice, I'll let you in on a little secret," the demon hissed. "The vessel has not been found yet, so you still have some time. The sacrifice will happen tomorrow night, which still gives us enough time to get the blood…"

What the hell? John glanced at Bobby, hoping the elder hunter was getting all of what the demon was saying. He opened his mouth, ready to retort to the riddles when the black-eyed bastard spoke again.

"Good lucky, Winchester," he sneered. "You're going to need it if you want your sons' to live past tomorrow."

And with that the demon gasped, his mouth opening before a funnel of black smoke erupted from his body and spiralling away into the distance. The man dropped the ground, unconscious.

"I've got to get to Dean," John said before sprinting off in the direction of the Impala. Those bastards weren't going to lay a hand on his son.

He felt off. He couldn't explain it, but he knew something wasn't right.

Dean lay in his hospital bed, attached to several IVs and a few other monitors. He had planned his failed escape only a few hours earlier and Dean could see from the vanishing light from between the gaps in the blinds that it was slowly drifting into night time.

From that deduction, the injured teen realised his father and Bobby had been gone for hours, having left just after lunch. He wondered how they got on and whether they'd got any leads as to where those bastards had taken his brother. He also realised that it was Saturday night. It had been less than twenty-four hours since the shooting. Had it really only been less than a day? Had Sammy been kidnapped only the night before?

Letting out a small cough, Dean titled his head back and angled his mouth towards the ceiling. He was having a little trouble taking a full breath in. Mindful of the IVs inserted into his veins, he lifted his arm and ran his hand over his face. He frowned when his palm came away covered in sweat.

Now that he thought about it; it really was starting to get hot in the room. They must have turned off the air-con or something. Dean breathed out slowly, feeling sweat beginning to gather on his face before sliding down his cheeks. He shifted on the bed, feeling increasingly uncomfortable.

He rocked his head to the side on his pillow, blinking lethargically at Caleb's form as he slumbered in one of the plastic chairs.

"Caleb?" He called out, only to have his voice give out half way through the two-syllable word. He tried again, only to find his voice too weak to carry anything past a whisper. He licked his suddenly dry lips, coughing weakly. What was going on?

Dean blinked again, closing his eyes as the room began to spin. He tried calling Caleb again, his breathing speeding up as the injured hunter realised something was seriously wrong. He was confused. He knew something was wrong, but why did he know something was wrong? He was so hot, yet his body ached like it was shivering with cold.

"…Caleb?" he croaked. He started to reach out towards the elder hunter, barely feeling the prick as one of the IV lines slipped out his arm.

When the hunter didn't answer, Dean tried again, this time having even worse luck as his throat refused to utter any sound other than a shallow gasp for air. Head lolling against the plump pillows, Dean closed his eyes to combat the dizziness that had appeared as the room started to spin around him.

I'm dying… was the last thought he had before the pull of unconsciousness became too much and he slipped into oblivion.

"Sam! Dad!" he yelled, looking around but only seeing darkness in every direction. He was alone, standing in the middle of nowhere. He didn't know what was happening; he didn't know where he was. Where were his dad and brother? What was going on?

"Dean?" a small and weak voice travelled from the left of him. Dean spun and headed towards where he thought he heard the voice. He had travelled only a few paces before the voice spoke up again, this time coming from behind him.

Turning again, Dean ran towards the voice. He'd heard the fear and his protective side kicked in, immediately wanting to rid the fear from the voice.

"Help…" It was coming from everywhere. He reached up and pushed his hands through his tousled hair, gripping the strands in frustration before running his hands down the side of his face. Who needed help? Why couldn't he help them?

"Dean!" This time the voice was scared. Terror enunciated his name, rippling through the darkened area. His eyes widened as he recognized the voice. It was Sam!

"Sammy!" he screamed into the black abyss. He turned in circles, eyes scanning everywhere in hope that he would see his little brother.

"Sammy! Where are you!?" he called again after not receiving a response. Oh god, what was going on?

Sweat dripping off his face, Dean gasped for air, his breaths coming quickly and shallow. He pressed a hand against his stomach as pain ripped through the right side of his abdomen. Pressure started to build where the pain was most intense and Dean bucked, trying to rid himself of the invisible hands pressing against his stomach.

"…Dean?" There was Sam again, weakly calling out his name. Finding himself suddenly lying on the ground, Dean fought against the pressure pushing down on his body and rolled to the left. His eyes widened and his breath left him in a horrified gasp as he laid eyes on his brother.

The darkness had separated, leaving an area bathed in a dim grey light. In the middle of the light sat Sam. He was sitting in a chair, hands behind his back and his feet tied to the legs of the chair.

He was wearing the clothes he'd worn the night of the dance. Except now they were in tatters and hanging off his small frame. His visible skin was littered with darkening bruises and wounds; slashes of dark red marked his fair skin, equally red liquid dripping from the cuts. Dean could see burns mixed in between the cuts and bruises, the skin charred black where it had been met with something hot and circular in size.

His little brother's face was a mess. One eye was puffy and black, almost swollen completely shut. Blood leaked from a cut on his eye lid, sliding over the enlarged area before drying on his cheekbone.

Sam's lip was split, more blood spilling from the open wound. A huge bruise covered the left side of his face, spreading from his chin to above his left eye. Dean watched as Sam coughed, black liquid spilling from his mouth and dribbling down his chin.

"Sammy… no…" he moaned, fighting against the chains that had somehow appeared and locked his wrists and ankles in place.

He watched in horror as Sam pried open his swollen eye and looked in his direction. Dean screamed as Sam's normally expressive hazel eyes were coated in a film of black, a pink tongue darting out and licking the deep crimson liquid from his lips.

"NO!" he screamed, thrashing as he was held still. "Sammy!"

A figure appeared behind his possessed younger brother. It was a… nurse? She also had black eyes.

"Give him back!" he pleaded, tears spilling from his eyes and trailing down his cheeks. "Leave him alone! Please…"

Both his brother and the demonic nurse turned and leered at him. "Sorry, Dean. But Sammy's gone and it's all your fault…"

"Nooo…" He moaned after having lost his voice, his mind shutting down as the trauma of it all became too much for him to handle.

Caleb watched in horror as the doctors restrained Dean, slipping his thin wrist and ankles into the Velcro straps they had attached to the sides of the bed. The injured teen was thrashing in his sleep, moaning unintelligibly. They had hooked him up to several machines, one of them being the dreaded heart monitor. An oxygen mask had been placed over his mouth and nose, giving him much-needed oxygen.

The beeping of the heart-monitor filled the room as it was properly connected. The sound was loud and fast, too fast. Dean was distressed, that much was obvious.

The kid was restless and sweating profusely. Caleb looked on as the doctors pulled down the sheets and tore open the hospital shirt he was wearing. Eyes immediately went to the several white patches of gauze covering the wounds on his stomach. Caleb gasped when they pulled the largest one off to reveal a stitched wound where they had opened him up to access his intestines.

The closed wound was surrounded by angry, red skin.

Shit, an infection.

"Doctor, he has a temperature of 102.5," a nurse supplied. Not good, but not extremely dangerous either.

The hunter stood back to give them room to work. He heard the head doctor order another round of heavy-duty antibiotics, along with several other commands that were blurted out in the strange language that was medical jargon.

"S'mmy… noooo…" Dean moaned from the bed, head lolling to the side. Caleb frowned before sighing. Feverish dreams were never a good thing and with everything that had happened in the past day… it was really no wonder what the kid was dreaming about.

After what seemed an age, the doctors stood back from the bed. Dean had quietened, which Caleb quickly found out was mainly due to a heavy dose to sedatives. They didn't want him thrashing around and pulling any stitches, which Caleb could understand.

"Alright," the main doctor spoke to the staff around him. "I want him on a close watch. An infection is nothing to muck around with, especially with the wound located near his intestines. I don't want any bacteria floating around in there causing any problems. Keep an eye on his temperature. If it goes any higher, we'll have to open the wound and flush it all out. For now it's not looking too bad, but I don't want to take any chances." He turned to a nurse fiddling with the pole that held several IV bags. "I want a blood sample done as well. If this infection goes anywhere near his bloodstream, he's in some serious trouble."

The nurse nodded and pulled out a syringe before inserting it into one of Dean's veins. Pulling the plunger out, Caleb watched as the vial filled with the deep red of Dean's blood. After capping the needle and placing a small bandage on the insertion point, the nurse moved out of the room.

The moment she reached the threshold of the room, she turned slightly and looked back into the room. Making sure no one was watching, she placed the syringe into one of the many pockets in the nurse's uniform.

Her eyes flickered black.


	11. Chapter 11

(Sunday morning)

Sam whimpered as the cigarette was pressed to his skin again. He felt sick as he smelt his flesh burning and had to hold back tears as the demon continued to hold the cigarette there. After what seemed an eternity, the pressure was released and Sam let out a breath he didn't realise he was holding. The pain didn't lessen and his fingers started to spasm again, the nerves in his hand reacting to the several burns scattered all over his palm and the back of his hand.

There were more scattered up and down his arms, along with shallow cuts made with a pocket knife and bruises that would no doubted blossom into very impressive colouring. Sam had lost track of time as they tortured him. He had no idea how long he'd been held captive. They'd asked him question after question while continuing to hurt him in different ways. He couldn't even remember half the questions any more. He just wanted to get out of there.

"Dad…" he murmured, hearing his captors laugh at his pleading.

"Awww, Sammy wants his daddy, does he?" There was a pause. "Well, too bad!" More laughter ensued.

It was dark. Sam couldn't see a thing. They'd kept him in complete darkness the entire time – the only bit of light coming from the light escaping through the crack at the bottom of the door. They hadn't blindfolded in quite a while, instead using another form of torture. They'd have several demons stand in the room at once, and would take turns at yelling at him; yelling obscenities and questions. Then several of them would smack him – not very hard – at the same time a demon would be yelling in another direction.

When they did that, Sam never felt more confused and disorientated. So far, that was the worst. He could put up with the pain (somewhat), but it was being in constant darkness that was really getting to him.

"Please!" he pleaded again, "Stop…"

He couldn't stop the tears from falling this time as the cigarette was once again pressed to his skin, this time near his elbow.

"We have a special treat for you, Sam Winchester… the boss wants some more of your blood, and he wants to have some extra… just in case…"

"W-what?"

Suddenly the door was thrown open and the room was flooded with light. Sam winced and screwed his eyes shut against the assault of brightness. He felt someone fiddling with the cuffs around his wrists and he opened his eyes in shock as he felt the cuffs give as they were unlocked.

A surge of energy raced through him and Sam quickly pushed himself upwards, completely forgetting that his feet were tied together. He managed to get half upright before he realised something wasn't right and fell forward.

Sam screamed as a fist plunged into his stomach as he fell. The wind was knocked out of him and he was pushed backwards into the chair, his hands free and clutching at his chest as he tried to suck in a breath.

A hand came out of nowhere and slapped him across the face. Sam barely felt it. He was too busy just trying to breathe.

"Don't try that again!" a demon commanded. "We might not be so lenient next time…"

Taking in a shuddering breath, Sam gasped before breaking into a coughing fit.

"We're going to set this up now, so be good. Or else…"

Sam was too weak to try and stop them as they tied his hands to the arms of the chair. The rope was tight and wrapped around his wrists several times before being knotted and pulled tight. Sam blinked, still trying to get used to the sudden light that was bathing the room.

More demons came in and Sam frowned as he saw what they were carrying.

They had several lengths of what looked like medical tubing, a couple of clear bags, metal stands and some kind of machine sitting on top of a trolley.

"Wha…" he broke off as a cough caught in his throat. God, he really needed some water.

As if reading his mind, a bottle of water appeared in front of his face. Sam felt his eyes widen at the sight of the clear bottle. As much as he wanted a drink, there was no way he would take what they were giving him. There was no knowing that they had done to it.

"Drink," the demon holding the bottle ordered. Sam pressed his lips together tightly and shook his head, ignoring the way the room swum at the movement.

"Drink!" The demon placed the bottle on Sam's lap and reached over, and wrapped a hand around his throat. Sam struggled against the grip, until he had to draw in a breath and opened his mouth wide. At that opportunity, the demon grabbed the bottle again and poured the contents down his throat.

Sam spluttered as the cold liquid his throat. Some of the water managed to get down his throat without incidence, but the rest went down the wrong way and he ended up coughing most of it back up, tears streaming down his face as it caused his bruised throat to flare up in pain again.

As soon as he had his breathing under control again, the demon tried again. Sam was too tired to resist this time, letting the water flow easily.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" the demon smirked. Sam didn't answer.

A sharp pain in his hand alerted Sam to what was going on around him. He sluggishly looked to the left and saw a needle sticking out of the back of his hand, amongst all the burns. He watched in a haze as they attached some of the tubing to the needle and attached the other end to an empty IV bag.

It wasn't until his head dropped forward onto his chest that Sam belatedly realised that they must have drugged the water.

"Nooo…" he moaned. "D'n…" he attempted to call out for his brother, only to have it come out as a half-attempted slur.

His head lolled back against the back of the chair and with a fuzzy gaze, he saw the demons attach something to the machine they'd brought in. A loud click echoed in the otherwise quiet room and Sam felt something pull in his hand. He looked down and cocked his head to the side at the sight of the once white tubing now a deep red in colour.

He watched in fascination as the red colour travelled through the tube, into the bag, out of another tube and into the machine.

Huh.

The last thing he heard before succumbing to the drug-induced haze was the cruel laughter of his captors.

Caleb was flicking through one of Bobby's many books on demons as he sat in Dean's hospital room. The room itself was silent, apart from the continuous beeping rhythm coming from the heart monitor connected to the sleeping boy. It had been a rough night for the kid. He'd tossed and turned for hours as the fever ravaged through his body. Dean's temperature had risen to almost dangerous levels and both he, Bobby and John had been ushered from the ward several times as doctors worked desperately to get his temperature down. Finally, after hours and hours of worrying, the doctors had emerged saying that they felt the fever had dropped to acceptable levels.

They hadn't wasted any time in heading back in to see Dean. Caleb had watched as John visibly deflated at seeing his son lying pale and still in the hospital bed. The covers were pulled down to his waist and the hospital gown was open, revealing the heavy bandaging wrapped his abdomen.

Bobby had left around two am, stating that he was heading home to freshen up a little and grab some books so they could do something constructive while they waited for Dean to wake up.

Now, Caleb looked up from his book and over to where Dean was resting. The young teen was still extremely pale, except for the slight flush to his cheeks. There was an oxygen mask still covering his nose and mouth, but the doctors urged that it was just a precaution. Several IVs were inserted into his arms, giving the boy the much needed painkillers and antibiotics.

He watched Dean breathe for a while, just wanting to make sure that he was still alive. He was still enough to be dead.

"How's he doing?" John asked as he re-entered the room, two cups of hot coffee in a tray in one hand, a bag with some bagels in the other.

Caleb smiled weakly at the elder hunter. "No change. But I suppose with what happened last night, that's not essentially a bad thing. Any word on Sam?"

John and Bobby had arrived the night before, frantic about Dean. They'd arrived just as Caleb had been ushered from the room for the first time. It had taken a while for Caleb to explain to the two hunters just what was happening – and that there were no demons involved.

When Dean had stabilized, John had sat by his bedside for the rest of the night, just watching him breathe. But as soon as morning had come, John had left to take a call from another hunter about some information on Sam's whereabouts. Caleb knew Sam's disappearance was tearing John apart.

"Nothing so far," John said, defeated. He sat down in one of the hard, plastic chairs and passed a cup of coffee to Caleb. Caleb took it gratefully. "Jefferson said he might be able to call in one of his favours, but he said he'd call back once he knew more."

John's eyes drifted over to the book that Caleb was currently flicking through. "Found anything about a vessel, sacrifice and blood?"

Caleb shook his head. "Nothing concrete. I've found mentions here and there of a sacrifice using the blood of the hunted, whatever that means. But there's no mention of a vessel."

"Blood of the hunted? Let me look."

Caleb turned to the page before handing the book to John. He'd been extremely lucky to find the small article on the sacrifice. It was a large book on demonology, included several mentions of different rituals and some demons that Caleb hoped he never came across. Ever.

"The demon of vengeance?" John asked as he looked up. "Says here that it uses the blood of the hunted in a sacrifice, but the rest of the paragraph is gone."

Caleb sighed. "Yeah. I'm gonna give Bobby a call soon and see if he has any information about a demon of vengeance. There's no mention of a vessel though, but it could be in the missing part."

"Mmmm…"

Caleb's head shot up at the low moan coming from the only bed in the room. John followed suit as he stood up and raced to where Dean was lying.

"Dean?" John whispered, placing a hand on his son's forehead. "You with me, kiddo?"

"Dad…?" was the slurred response. Caleb didn't fight the grin that took over his face as he saw two slits of moss green appear from behind pale eyelids.

Dean blinked sluggishly, trying to lift his head off the pillow, but running out of energy half way through. A small smile appeared on his lips beneath the oxygen mask.

"Hey, kiddo. Good to see you awake."

"S'mmy?"

Caleb wasn't at all surprised by the question. Dean lived for his little brother.

There was a slight pause before John answered, in which time Caleb could see Dean getting distressed.

"Your brother's fine, Dean." Caleb looked over at John's answer, shocked. Why was he lying to Dean? He was quickly reminded why as the hospitalised teen calmed down, sinking back into the pillows. One hand snaked over to rest above the bandaging on his stomach.

"Good…"

As Dean's eyes slipped shut again, Caleb came to the conclusion that they were going to have to find Sam and fast. If not for Sam's safety and well-being, but for Dean's too.

Demon of Vengeance, huh?

Caleb's eyes narrowed.

Bring it on.


	12. Chapter 12

(Sunday night)

They were going to get Sam back.

John Winchester growled low in his throat, thinking of what those bastard demons could have done to his youngest son as he drove towards the once-abandoned farm house where they were keeping him. His hands gripped the wheel of the black '67 Impala tightly, his knuckles turning white with the pressure. If they had hurt his son… There wouldn't be a force on earth, heaven or hell strong enough to stop his fury.

It had been a long and arduous day for the Winchester patriarch. They'd spent most of the day at the hospital with Dean as he swam in and out of consciousness. They still had him on some pretty heavy duty drugs – to combat the pain he was no doubt in, and to help stave off infection. It didn't stop the teenager from asking about his brother every time he woke though.

Caleb had found something about a demon of vengeance in one of Bobby's old demonology books and had disappeared for a few hours to try and follow it up after the call to Bobby had turned up nothing. He'd been gone for hours and when he'd come back, the news he brought wasn't what John had wanted to hear at all.

-earlier that day-

"John!" Caleb came rushing into the hospital room; face slightly flushed from excessive exercise. He was gripping a few loose pieces of paper in one hand, the dirty parchment slightly worse for wear.

"Caleb?" John asked, looking up from where he was sitting beside his son's bed. Dean was lying, disturbingly still, on the hospital bed. The oxygen mask was still in place as well as the several IV's, distributing the necessary painkillers and other medication that he needed.

Caleb closed the door behind him quietly, before making his way over to where there was a spare seat. He mumbled a quick hello to the unconscious teen and slumped into the available seat. He was not looking forward to telling John what he'd found out…

It had been hard work. He'd only had a few words to go by – 'demon of vengeance' and while there were plenty of mentions of demons wanting vengeance and several 'vengeance demons', but Caleb had been searching for the very particular phrase of 'demon of vengeance.'

Finally, after what seemed like hours and hours of work, he had stumbled across and old text that told the story of an old, corrupt priest in the early 1900's hiring a demon called Arioch to do his dirty work; which included the murder of several of his fellow villagers who were against his teachings. From there, Caleb decided to pursue the 'Arioch' angle.

Three insanely large books, four phone calls and fifteen cups of coffee later, Caleb found what he was looking for. And it was in the most unlikely place…

…an actual published book in the 1950's.

It wasn't a lot to go on, but it hadn't calmed Caleb's nerves any.

'Arioch: Demon of vengeance, according to some demonologists. He is different from Alastor, and occupies himself only with vengeance in particular cases where he is employed.'

"Wait, what?"

Caleb sighed. This wasn't going well. "Arioch is the Demon of Vengeance – as in, the only one. There are vengeance demons, but this guy is the head honcho. He's summoned by whoever has the means to do so and is 'hired' by them to do their dirty work. That's the only way he exacts his vengeance – unlike the other vengeance demons who just create havoc in their mission for revenge."

John swallowed. So this Arioch demon only concerned himself with vengeance when he was working for someone else? What kind of demon did that?

"So you're saying that for this… Arioch to exact vengeance upon someone, he has to be 'employed' at the time?"

"Yeah…" Caleb confirmed. "And from the stories I've read," he waved the crumpled papers in his hand around, "he doesn't stop until the task is completed. He's never failed yet."

The eldest Winchester sighed and clenched his fists. God dammit…

"And how does one go about summoning and employing Arioch?"

Caleb winced. That was the part he really wasn't looking forward to telling John. He didn't answer straight away, staring down at the papers he'd dropped on his knees to avoid John's gaze.

"Caleb?" The younger hunter winced again as John growled his name, drawing out the vowels in a slightly menacing way. Shit.

Inhaling deeply, Caleb looked up. "That's where the blood, sacrifice and vessel come into play."

"Go on…"

"To summon Arioch, one must have several key ingredients. It requires a tricky process, which can take some time to complete," Caleb read off one of the papers now residing in his hand. "One such ingredient is the 'blood of the hunted.' Arioch requires the blood of those his employer wishes to track and destroy. By using the blood in the summoning ritual, Arioch is tied to whoever the blood belongs to and is able to track them…" he trailed off, not really wanting to say the last word written in that paragraph.

John frowned. The look on Caleb's face was making him uneasy. "And?" he snapped loudly, before quickly looking over at Dean, checking to see if the injured boy was still asleep. Thankfully he was.

"Arioch will be able to track them… forever."

John closed his eyes and rested his head in his hands. Fuck. That was definitely not what he wanted to hear. "What else?" he asked, resigned.

Caleb started reading again. "A sacrifice is also needed to summon Arioch. Four souls will be need to be forfeited in order to gain enough spiritual energy to bring froth the soul of the damned. These souls, unlike most other rituals, must not be pure in nature."

"Jeezus, this is one dark summoning…" John murmured. Souls that had to be tainted? This was some dark magic and John was starting to think they were in over their heads…

"The last aspect to the ritual is a vessel. Arioch is unable to take form in the human realm by himself and is need of a vessel to carry out his work. The vessel must be male, mature in age and also must have a tainted soul. This way, Arioch will be able to merge properly with the host and utilize his abilities to the fullest."

The younger hunter sighed and placed the papers on his knee again before looking back up at John.

"That's all the book said. There's no mention of what the incantation is, nor is there anything said about a way to reverse the process."

"Dammit!" John cursed, standing up and sending the plastic chair skidding backwards and crashing to the floor with a clatter. "We've got to get Sam back!" If those demons had Sam… and they had his blood…

"Dad?"

John was snapped out of his internal rage by the weak, muffled voice coming from the hospital bed. Dean was awake, his green eyes open, but glazed.

"Dad?" he repeated.

"Dean," John breathed as he quickly made his way to his son's side. Dean was struggling with the mask resting over his mouth, but was too weak to pull it away.

"Leave it, son. It's there to help."

"Where's… Sam?" he asked, blinking lethargically. John could see that Dean wasn't going to be able to stay awake for much longer. The drugs pumping through his system were really screwing with his body.

"He's resting at the moment, buddy," John lied. Dean needed to focus on his recovery first and foremost.

"You're… lying…" Dean coughed, taking in a wheezing breath. He felt like death warmed over. His head was pounding, yet it wasn't. He was hazy, like in some kind of fog. But even through the thick fog he knew his dad was lying.

"Where… is… he?" he gasped.

John bit his lower lip and was about to answer when Caleb came up and pulled him aside.

"Tell him, John. He deserves to know. And I think we're going to have to spring him. If those demons have Sam's blood, then there's a high chance they'll be coming after Dean's too – if they don't have it already. He'll be safer with us."

Caleb was right, John realised. There was no telling what the demons could have done while Dean was in hospital. The amount of blood tests he'd gone through…

"Dammit…" he murmured. He approached Dean's bed again, watching as his son struggled to sit up.

"Stay, Dean." A deep sigh. "Here's the thing…"

-Sunday night-

And that was how it began. Hours later, John was driving towards the farm house. Bobby had called not long after he had told Dean about Sam, saying that he'd found him. After calling in a few favours with some local law enforcement, they'd found strange activity occurring at one of the old, abandoned farm houses. Bobby had gone to check it out and had discovered the presence of several demons. That had been enough for John.

Dean was bundled up in the back seat, half asleep. They'd snuck him out of the hospital. It had been bloody hard, but they'd managed it and Caleb had managed to acquire an IV stand, several bags of hospital strength liquid painkillers, antibiotics and a couple of nutritional bags to try and keep Dean hydrated while he couldn't stomach solid food. They'd also filled a few duffel bags with antiseptic, bandages, needles and thread, steri-strips and other medical supplies.

Bobby was waiting for them a couple of miles from the farm house. They were going to meet up with him and while Caleb and John went in to extract Sam and destroy the demons, Bobby was going to stay with Dean. John didn't want him left alone, especially with his condition and the fact it was very likely the demons were after him too.

It wasn't long before John saw Bobby's old beat-up Dodge Charger parked on the side of the road, headlights dimmed. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel again, fury racing through his veins.

This was it.

He was going to get Sam back and destroy these demons once and for all.

It had all started with a school dance and had somehow morphed into a bloody demon summoning ritual. One of his son's had been shot and should really still be in the hospital, while his other son had offered himself up to a bunch of demons to save his brother's life and was now a hostage in some twisted ritual.

John still didn't know what the hell this ritual had to do with his boys, but he wasn't about to let his boys be involved in it in any way. They were going to have to deal with him first.

They'd better watch out, John thought as he pulled the Impala up next to Bobby's Charger.

John Winchester was about to hit them and he was pissed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is all I have written so far. I just kinda forgot to cross-post everything from my fanfiction account... whoops. Sorry! Not sure when another chapter will be out as life is kicking my ass at the moment. But there are only a few more chapters to go! Thanks for taking the time to read. Thanks

**Author's Note:**

> [originally posted on fanfiction.net]
> 
> My very first Supernatural fic. Currently have 12 chapters written. Will post more when I can. Thanks for taking the time to read. Hope you enjoyed.


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